


Seeking & Finding

by SuburbanSun



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine, Light Angst, Mystery, Non-SHIELD AU, Private Investigators, Secrets, Suspicions, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-05-22 01:44:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6065968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/pseuds/SuburbanSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Private eye Jemma Simmons has a knack for cracking a case. But this latest one, in which scientist Leo Fitz is accused of trading corporate secrets for cash, might be a bit of a challenge. </p><p>No matter. She’s up for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SuperIrishBreakfastTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperIrishBreakfastTea/gifts).



> Written for []()TFSN’s Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine 2016, for my wonderful Valentine, [SuperIrishBreakfastTea](http://superirishbreakfasttea.tumblr.com/), who is a credit to our fandom! 
> 
> Super thanks to the super awesome [ardentaislinn](http://ardentaislinn.tumblr.com/) and [eclecticmuses](http://eclecticmuses.tumblr.com/) for betaing!
> 
> I anticipate this will be about five chapters, and I hope to post weekly.

Jemma absentmindedly speared the last piece of chicken in the Chinese takeout box with her chopstick. She brought it up to her mouth with her other hand cupped beneath it so the sauce wouldn’t drip onto her case file.

Well, May’s casefile. It had been a slow couple of months, and there hadn’t been much for Jemma to do but help out where she could. Truthfully, she was lucky May could afford to keep her on the payroll.

“Any luck?”

Jemma sighed and tossed the chopsticks into the empty styrofoam box. “Nothing conclusive,” she replied. May nodded.

“Same over here. Looks like I’m going to have to go to Wisconsin, after all.”

“I hear it’s lovely this time of year,” Jemma said, though she had no actual idea what Wisconsin weather in late April was like. They sat at their respective desks in silence as May navigated the Delta website to book a flight for the following day, and Jemma tidied up the fruitless phone records they’d spent the evening combing through.

“Flying out tomorrow at 9 a.m.,” May said finally. “Think you can hold the fort for a few days?”

Jemma leaned back in her ancient swivel chair, pilfered from the accounting firm down the hall that had gone belly-up the previous year, and smiled smugly. “I think I can handle that.” Her smile faltered. “Particularly if our caseload remains stubbornly at one.”

“It’ll come,” said May, standing up from her desk. “Always does.” She tucked her laptop and a few folders into her bag and shouldered it, switching off the old brass lamp that adorned the desk. “Go home, Jemma.”

“I will. Just want to tidy up a bit--”

“Go home.”

Jemma’s gaze hung on May’s stern face, but she relented, shutting her own laptop and retrieving her purse from its spot in the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet.

“Who knows,” said May as the two women trooped out of the office. She shut the door behind them, the glass window etched with _May Investigations_ rattling in the frame as she did, and locked it up tight. “Maybe tomorrow the case of a lifetime will come in. When it does, it might surprise you.”

Nearly 45 minutes later, as she let herself into her dark fourth floor walk-up, May’s words still echoed in Jemma’s head.

“Case of a lifetime, eh?” she muttered to herself. She opened her refrigerator without turning on the kitchen light-- just sriracha and beer, so she grabbed one of the latter and popped it open. She took a long swig and leaned back against the fridge door.

In the three years that she’d been working as a private investigator under May, Jemma could count the number of cases that had truly surprised her on one hand. Most lasted only a few days. Rarely were the suspects anything other than what they seemed-- typical deadbeats, petty crooks, down-on-their-luck people with questionable moral compasses. Was it too much to hope that an interesting, challenging and surprising case would walk right through the door of May Investigations and shake up her routine? Or that, for once, the usual suspect might not turn out to be the bad guy, after all?

Jemma chuckled, pushing off the fridge and heading toward the living room to read or flip channels like she did nearly every night.

Yes, she decided. It was almost _certainly_ too much to hope.

 

\---

 

The problem with Solitaire, Jemma thought, was that the more you played it, the easier it got. The same went for any of the other games that came pre-loaded on her laptop. The internet obviously had more to offer, but for a detective by trade, a Buzzfeed quiz was like amateur hour.

By 4 p.m., Jemma was debating closing down early for the day. With May in Wisconsin and the phone refusing to break its silence, she’d even run out of parts of the office to organize. Maybe she could do a little grocery shopping and get home in time to cook an actual balanced meal.

As she put her computer into sleep mode, the phone rang. The shrill sound jolted her in the utter silence of the room.

“May Investigations. Jemma Simmons speaking.”

The caller on the other end of the line was from RoTech, the massive multi-discipline science lab downtown. You name it, they made it, from pharmaceuticals to microchips to advanced weaponry, and probably plenty else the public wasn’t allowed to know about. Jemma followed their work closely.

As the man spoke, she tapped at her computer keyboard in frustration-- _of course you choose_ now _to install updates, don’t you?_

She scrambled for a pen and a pad of paper to take down the pertinent information. An actual case!

“Mmhmm. Got it. Leopold Fitz.” She shifted the phone from one ear to the other, tucking it between her chin and shoulder so she could more easily jot down notes. “Yes, I’ve got it-- L-E-O-P-O-L-D.” She double underlined the name, listening as the man continued. “Of course, I completely understand why a corporate mole in your line of business would be dangerous.”

“Dangerous isn’t the word I would use if our designs get into the wrong hands,” said the man, who had introduced himself as Alphonso Mackenzie, the lab’s Head of Security. “Catastrophic is more accurate.”

“Of course,” said Jemma, feeling a little thrill at the word.

“I’ll fax over all the info we have on the suspect. What do you need from us to get this sorted out ASAP?”

“Information on this Fitz person will definitely be helpful. Also, may I ask why you suspect him to begin with?”

He paused for so long Jemma wasn’t certain he was on the line anymore. When he did, his voice was low and serious. “It kills me to suspect him at all, if I’m being honest. He’s a friend. But Wick Labs is getting our intel somehow, that much we’ve know for quite awhile. We’ve been trying to track down the mole ourselves for a few months, and then suddenly last week, I got an anonymous tip through our secure employee-only line that he was the one.” He paused again. “And we’re scientists at heart, Ms. Simmons, even those of us who work in the lab’s security department. We have to pursue all possible options in search of the truth.”

Jemma knew that feeling well. “Thank you, sir. We’ll do our level best to sort this out in a timely manner.”

A few more details taken care of, she hung up, barely able to conceal her excitement. Then, looking around the deserted office, she realized there was no reason _to_ conceal it, and let out an incredulous laugh. _An actual case_.

“May!” she said into the phone a few moments later, a little too loud.

“Everything okay?” May kept her voice low. She was probably tailing her suspect, whoever he was-- Jemma knew to keep the call quick.

“We’ve got a new case! Standard corporate mole, a scientist suspected of trading intel to a rival lab. One of his colleagues tipped off the higher-ups that he was doing so, and that was enough for them to want to investigate. May, it’s a _lot_ of money.”

“Ought to be. Those kinds of intelligence leaks can cost companies billions.”

“Exactly!” Jemma nearly giggled, then caught herself, trying to sound more professional. “$50,000 if we deliver this guy along with proof he’s the one stealing secrets. We won’t need to get another case for _months_.”

“Well, let’s hope we do get another case, anyway,” May said dryly. “Thanks for the update, Jemma. I trust you can handle this one on your own? I might be up here for a few days longer than expected, maybe even a week or two.”

“Of course. I’ll check in with you once I get a handle on the suspect.” She frowned, pausing before asking a question she knew wouldn’t get much of an answer. “Everything okay?”

“Sure. Be careful, Jemma.”

“You, too.” It was the way they always ended their phone conversations when one of them was working a case, and Jemma hung up the phone, shaking off her concern for May. A pleased smile graced her face as she picked up her notepad from the desk and ripped off the top page, holding it up to skim over the details of the case.

Jemma was certain of one thing-- assuming he was guilty (and they usually were), this “Leopold Fitz” fellow wouldn’t know what hit him.

 

\---

 

“Don’t let anyone ever call you unprepared,” said Daisy, handing the file folder of details on the Leopold Fitz case back to Jemma. She took the folder and tapped it against the tabletop a few times to neaten its contents.

“I do excel at preparation,” Jemma agreed.

They’d posted up at a patio table in front of the restaurant across the street from Fitz’s current residence, according to the sheet of information Alphonso Mackenzie had faxed to the office. Jemma had lured Daisy there with promises of a nice brunch, though Daisy knew that a new case meant she should bring her laptop. Together, they’d spent the past half hour reviewing all the details Jemma had been able to dredge up about Fitz’s life.

“The PhD from MIT’s pretty impressive,” mused Daisy. She dipped her last bite of hash browns in ketchup and popped it into her mouth. “I can probably get into their database, access his student records. The usual drill.”

“Perfect. Maybe check for any outstanding student loans, too? If he owes quite a lot, that could give us a motive.” Daisy just nodded, and Jemma smiled at her friend gratefully. “Thank you, Daisy.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, tapping away at her keyboard. “I don’t get to flex these muscles very often anymore since my hacktivist days. You know I’m always happy to help you crack a case.”

Jemma swirled her straw around in her water glass. “Well, anything helps. Maybe I can solve this without ever having to lay eyes on him.”

“You’re good, but that’s a pretty tall order,” said Daisy. “Besides, isn’t that him?” She nodded across the street and Jemma followed her gaze.

A man emerged from the door to the building, locking it behind him. He stuffed one hand in the pocket of his tan jacket and slid his key into the mailbox next to the door. Jemma watched him pull out a few envelopes and a periodical.

“He looks just like I pictured,” she murmured, scrawling a few notes on her pad.

Daisy squinted at the man over her eggs Benedict. “Really? He looks cuter than I would have pegged him.”

Jemma’s pen stilled. “Cuter? I mean, I hadn’t thought about that.”

“No?”

“No, Daisy! I’m a professional.”

Daisy smirked, one eyebrow raised. “I know, I know… you’re way too professional to ever admit that the guy you’re stalking--”

“--not stalking--”

“--is a total hottie.”

Jemma shook her head. “Whatever you say, Daisy.” She ducked her head and continued to take notes as Fitz walked down the stairs, then down the sidewalk, away and out of their sight.

Hottie or not, that was no concern of Jemma’s.

 

\---

 

It had been quite some time since Jemma had been on a good, old-fashioned stakeout. She didn’t miss them, exactly, but she did tend to enjoy the silence and tranquility.

Or at least that’s what she told herself.

She’d holed up in her car, parked right in front of Fitz’s apartment, and angled herself in such a way that she could see right into his front window but he was unlikely to spot her, especially in such a nondescript vehicle.

From 3 p.m. to 6 p.m., she found herself staring at nothing. He clearly wasn’t there, the curtains of his front window still and silent. Jemma went through a bag and a half of kale chips and a large bottle of water during that time. Around 6, she was tempted to pop into the convenience store around the corner for another pick-me-up, but knew he could come home from work at any minute-- she couldn’t risk it.

Of course, he didn’t actually make it home until 6:43 p.m.

“Alright, Mr. Fitz,” she muttered to herself, sitting up straighter in the driver’s seat of her Civic. “Let’s see what you do when you’re off-the-clock.”

She had a clear view of his living room, and a partial view of his kitchen. She watched him head for the refrigerator first, pulling out a few items and shutting it with his hip. He disappeared from her sight for a few minutes, and when he reappeared, he was holding what looked like a very delicious sandwich. She wished she’d thought to bring dinner, and wondered briefly if Hong Kong Express would deliver to a parked car.

“Come on, Jemma,” she chided herself. “You’re normally more prepared than this.” Ignoring her rumbling stomach, she leaned forward in her seat to get a better glimpse of Fitz.

He fell backwards onto his couch, taking a big bite of sandwich as he flipped on the television. Based on the station identification that aired after a Febreze commercial, he was watching BBC America.

“Ooh, the Doctor Who marathon was tonight!” Jemma hoped she’d remembered to DVR it.

In the end, though, she needn’t have. She spent the next few hours watching the show along with Fitz. It wasn’t like she required the sound to know what was happening, given how many times she’d seen each episode. For his part, aside from getting up for popcorn after the first episode and messing about on his tablet on and off, a Doctor Who marathon seemed to be the entirety of his plans for the evening. Unfortunately, Jemma couldn’t quite make out what was on the tablet’s screen-- she’d have to get a better vantage point next time, or borrow the fancy high-definition binoculars May kept locked in her bottom drawer.

By 9 o’clock, her hunger outweighed what little she was learning about Fitz, and she decided to call it a night. With one last peek into his living room, and a sigh when she realized he was just beginning one of her favorite episodes, she started her car and quietly pulled onto the street.

_I’ll figure you out tomorrow, Mr. Fitz_ , she vowed, and began the fortuitously short drive back to her own apartment.

 

\---

 

The next day, Jemma decided to try a different tactic. After stopping by the office to drop off some files, she headed for RoTech’s sprawling campus on the other side of town.

In the parking lot, she pulled open her glove compartment and flipped through its contents.

“Fashion magazine… no… entertainment website… no… a-ha! Local paper.” She pulled out the ID card indicating she was a reporter for the local newspaper and tucked it into her wallet. May had taught her that for all people claimed to distrust reporters, they also _loved_ the idea of seeing their name in the press or their face on a news broadcast. People tended to open up to reporters when they weren’t the ones under fire.

“Good morning,” she said to the security guard who sat behind the front desk in the lab’s reception area. He looked bored, but perked up when she used her sing-songiest tone. “My name is Jenna Simons.” She flashed him her newspaper ID. “I’m working on a piece about new scientific breakthroughs that have come out of our fair city, and I was hoping I might be able to take a tour of the facility here, maybe conduct a couple of quick interviews?”

The guard opened his mouth, looking apologetic, so she flashed him her brightest smile and continued. “It’s a puff piece, really. Something to showcase what _wonderful_ people work for a company like RoTech.”

The guard hesitated. “Can I see your ID again?”

Jemma pulled it out of her wallet and handed it over. He eyed it, then her, and she grinned hopefully. Finally, he puffed out his cheeks and gave it back to her.

“I’m not really supposed to step away from my desk, but…” He peered around the empty reception area. “I guess I could spare a few minutes. For you.”

_Yes._ She preferred to use her wits whenever possible, but if a pretty face and a smile got results, who was she to complain?

The guard, who introduced himself as Marcus, led her down a long hallway with doors lining either side. “These are some of the smaller labs. Specialized research, lots of mumbo jumbo.” He smiled back at her with a shrug. “Above my pay grade.” She faked a giggle in response.

“I’ve heard a lot about the engineering department,” she said, once they’d poked their heads into a few standard-looking lab rooms. “They’re having quite a good year, it seems.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Marcus, leading her up a flight of stairs. “Engineering’s big here. Seems like every time somebody comes by my desk, says they’re starting work that day, they’re an engineering hire. There was a Bethany something-or-other, then a Linh, then somebody named Kenneth a few months back.” Marcus smiled at her. “I’m great with matching first names to faces. Not so great with the last names.”

_Hmm. Either the department’s growing rapidly, or turnover’s awfully high,_ Jemma thought. “Is there a reason they’re so successful? Perhaps a key employee?” She wasn’t sure how much Marcus would know-- or be willing to tell her-- but she also wasn’t certain she’d be able to get in to speak to any of the actual scientists. Fitz’s colleagues would surely be able to reveal more about him or give her hints as to his alleged nefarious activities, but for now, Marcus would have to do.

“Well, I only know what I hear in the breakroom, you know?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“The head of the department gets mentioned a lot. Young guy, young to be in charge of a department at least.” They turned a corner, passing by a bulletin board with a big sign promoting lab safety. “I hear he’s pretty prickly, but he keeps coming up with things that go on to win awards, or win a lot of grant money for the company. He’s probably the one you’d want to talk to if you’re looking for breakthroughs.”

“Oh?” Jemma tried to sound calm and curious. “And what did you say his name was?”

Marcus stopped abruptly, turning to face her, and Jemma almost walked right into his rather broad chest. Did he suspect something? Should she not have asked for the name?

Instead of demanding to know who she _really_ was, though, he just gestured to the open door they’d stopped in front of. “That’s him in there. Leo Fitz. Though I pity the lab assistant who calls him by his first name,” he finished, then chuckled. “That’s the only reason I can actually remember his last name, I guess.”

She followed his gaze to see the suspect, Fitz, standing at a lab bench, flipping through the pages of a notebook with a furrowed brow. _Hates his first name. Good to know._

“Does he--” she began, but Marcus interrupted her.

“Dr. Fitz!” he called out. Fitz looked up from his notebook quizzically, eyes flicking from Marcus to Jemma and back. Marcus turned back to her. “I’ve been away from my desk too long. I’m sure Dr. Fitz’ll be happy to answer your questions.”

_Rats._ She had only meant to investigate him from afar, subtly questioning his coworkers, not ambushing him in his own lab. But he was walking toward her, and Marcus was already halfway down the hall, so this would have to do. She sucked in a breath and smiled. _Remember, Jemma-- he’s not likely to be dangerous. Just unsavory._

“Hi,” she said, extending her hand to shake his. “I’m Jemma Simmons.” The moment the words were out of her mouth she wondered why she’d said them-- her ID badge said Jenna Simons, and it was bush league to give the suspect her _real_ name, but it had just come out. “I’m writing a piece on some of the breakthroughs that have come out of this lab, and Marcus was kind enough to show me around.”

“Fitz,” he said, letting go of her hand. He sighed, casting an eye to the clock on the wall before looking back at her. “Looks like you caught me red-handed.”

Jemma’s eyes widened, just slightly. She had?

“I was just about to head down to the cafeteria for a cup of tea,” he continued. “I’m not getting anywhere on this project that’s been giving me trouble. Tea helps me think.”

“Of course. Me too,” she said. Of course he hadn’t meant it literally. He very likely didn’t even know he was under suspicion at all. “I could come back later, or…”

“Uh... “ He rubbed the side of jaw thoughtfully with one hand. “You could join me? Kill two birds with one cuppa?” After he said it, he grimaced a bit.

Jemma smiled. She couldn’t have planned this better if she’d tried. “Lead the way.”

 

\---

 

“Earl Grey? I thought you’d be more of an English Breakfast,” he said as he dumped a second sugar packet into his tea.

“Why, because I’m English?” She took her tea and followed him to a table by the wall of windows, sitting in the molded plastic chair across from him. “That’s quite the assumption.”

“No!” He raised his eyebrows eagerly. “I’m just a good guesser when it comes to tea.”

She smirked, taking a sip of hers. “Oh, really?”

“Really really. Well, usually.”

“Alright, Dr. Fitz--”

“Fitz is fine, please.”

“Alright, Fitz. If you’re such a good guesser, then what kind of tea does that man drink?” She gestured to a middle-aged, balding man sitting alone a few tables over. Fitz followed her gaze and squinted at the man thoughtfully. She used the moment of silence to fully take Fitz in.

He was different than she’d thought he’d be-- more open, somehow, and friendlier. Definitely not as prickly as Marcus had said. He sat across from her in a solid blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up, one hand wrapped around his paper cup, his thumb moving idly up and down the side. He didn’t seem tense, or worried, or at all like the type to be covertly trading valuable secrets-- but then, they often didn’t _look_ like criminals. Appearances meant very little, she’d learned.

Finally, he turned his attention back to Jemma, wrinkling his nose. “Lipton’s. The cheapest kind. And microwaved. Definitely.”

She laughed. “Some people have no respect.” He hummed in agreement, and she took the opportunity to change the subject to something that might be more pertinent to the case. “So, Fitz. Tell me about your role here. You must get to work on some very exciting and highly sensitive projects.”

Fitz shrugged, sipping his tea. “Some are more exciting than others, but yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Anything in particular you can share with me?”

“On the record?”

She smiled sweetly. “Of course.”

“Probably not a whole lot, then. You’re right that the projects we deal with are fairly sensitive in nature. Government contracts and the like. There are layers of protection and clearance levels and things like that to prevent information getting into the wrong hands, you know?” His half-smile looked apologetic. “I’m sure that doesn’t make for a good story for the paper, though.”

_That’s ironic_ , she thought, _Mr. Chief Suspect for trading secrets being committed to toeing the party line._ She figured it was worth one more try, though, a soft look in her eyes that she knew most men found aesthetically appealing.

“Are you certain there’s not anything you can share with me?”

He just shook his head, and he really did look sorry. “Nothing about currently on-going projects or my work. I can send you a few slideshows that go into detail about completed projects, if you’d like. Stuff we use to apply for grants.”

_Oh well_. She nodded, and jotted down her email address-- her personal one, since the Jenna Simons fake address had been rendered unnecessary-- on the back of the business card he slid across the table. She doubted anything he’d send her would be useful to the case, but she could hardly say no.

“I’d love to know more about what you do, though,” he said, tucking the card back into his wallet. “Investigating, ferreting out the truth, that sounds as exciting as anything I could come up with in a lab.”

_You don’t know the half of it_. “Investigating something can be exciting, that’s true.”

“How’d you get into it?” His face was open and curious, like he really wanted to know more about her. It made her share without thinking too much about it first.

“I sort of fell into it, actually. I went to school for forensic science, and worked in a lab for a couple of years.” His eyebrows raised at that, and he sat a little straighter in his chair, his thumb thoughtfully tapping the side of his cup of tea. “I knew M-- my boss through family friends, and began to help her out on the side when I could.”

“Freelance?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“And now you’re a full-time ace reporter, eh? Bet the science background helps with stories like this one.”

Jemma paused, pushing down the errant pang of guilt that still plagued her even after a few years in the PI world. “It helps with a lot of things, actually.”

“Do you miss the lab?” He gestured toward the cafeteria entrance and the rest of the vast facility.

“What I do now… it’s not bad. I do enjoy finding out the truth,” she admitted carefully, for some reason determined to avoid outright lying.

He took the last sip of his tea and set the cup back down on the table. “Well, the truth is out there, isn’t it?”

Jemma quirked an eyebrow. _Doctor Who and The X-Files. The man has good taste in TV._ “I certainly like to think so.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, and she was just about to open her mouth to ask him something else, some leading question that might result in her getting that much closer to the truth, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He broke her gaze and pulled it out, frowning as he read the message on the screen.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Simmons--”

“Jemma is fine.”

He smiled, looking down at the table for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “I’m sorry, Jemma, then. I’ve got to get back to the lab. One of those ‘top-secret’ projects needs attention, apparently,” he explained. They both stood, and he led her out of the cafeteria. “I wish I could have been more helpful. I’m afraid you won’t be able to get much inside information on anything currently in progress. I’ll be sure to send you those files, though.”

She nodded. They’d reached the reception area, where Marcus was once again sitting behind the desk, looking a little bored.

“Thank you for your time, Fitz. And for the tea.” She extended her hand, and he took it, his palm warm in hers.

“It was really no trouble.” He shook her hand slowly. “If you ever need the services of a tea-guesser for one of your articles…”

Jemma let out a genuine laugh, letting go of his hand and stepping backward toward the entrance to the lab. “You’ll be the first source I call.”

For a moment, he looked like he was going to say something else, but instead just smiled with a little nod before turning and heading down the hallway. Jemma stood in place, watching him until he disappeared from view.

“Get everything you needed?” asked Marcus. She watched the empty hallway Fitz had gone down for another beat, then turned back to the reception desk.

“Not yet. But I’m getting closer.” She pushed her way through the double doors.

“Good luck on your article!” Marcus called behind her as the doors shut, and she waved over her shoulder, mind already whirring. It seemed that Fitz-- nice, tea-drinking, television-watching, rule-abiding Fitz-- was going to be a tougher nut to crack than she’d thought.

Fortunately, she was up to the task.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma gets a little bit closer to Fitz, though not to solving the case.

If Fitz wasn’t going to cooperate (and by cooperate, she meant give himself away), then Jemma was just going to have to take matters into her own hands.

She spent the day after her jaunt to RoTech scanning his online presence with Daisy, who’d managed to hack into MIT’s student records on the first try. “A cakewalk,” she’d called it, pulling up a series of files with a few swift keystrokes.

They pored over the records together, holed up in the May Investigations office, Daisy sitting in May’s chair with her feet propped up on her desk.

“I wouldn’t sit like that, if I were you,” warned Jemma.

Daisy shrugged. “Boss lady’s out of town for another week, right? She won’t know.”

Jemma raised an eyebrow at that. “May knows _everything_.”

Daisy looked skeptical, but put her feet back on the floor, anyway.

“So what’s the game plan? Gonna try interviewing his colleagues again?” Daisy asked.

Jemma shook her head. “I think I need to get closer to the source.”

“As in--”

“As in, I’m going to casually loiter outside his apartment until he comes out so I can accidentally-on-purpose bump into him.”

Daisy chuckled. “A foolproof plan.”

“Hey, don’t knock it. The casual run-in is how I caught Jasper Sitwell cheating on his wife once and for all.” Jemma winced at the memory of one of her first solo cases. “Of course, I made quite the fool of myself in the process. But it got the job done.”

“Well, hope you don’t have to spend too much time with this guy,” said Daisy, gesturing at Fitz’s photo on her computer screen.

Jemma frowned. “Why? I mean, other than the fact that he’s very likely an untrustworthy white collar criminal?”

“Not that. Because he seems massively, unstoppably _boring._ ” Daisy clicked over to another tab, revealing Fitz’s Facebook feed, which she rapidly scolled through. “The only things he posts are news articles about sciencey stuff--”

“Ooh!”

Daisy rolled her eyes and continued as if Jemma hadn’t interjected. “Posts about the occasional soccer match, and sometimes a picture of a sandwich he’s about to eat. He may be selling secrets to the highest bidder, but the guy has, like, no edge whatsoever.”

Jemma just shrugged. Her job had taught her that appearances weren’t always what they seemed. Sometimes, you had to take a look at the whole picture to really know someone.

 

\---

 

Pacing back and forth on the corner near Fitz’s apartment got boring after the first half-hour or so. It was Saturday afternoon, and though Jemma hadn’t been surveilling him for long, she’d been able to catch him returning to his apartment the previous Saturday in the late afternoon. She’d come by a few hours earlier this time around, and could only hope he’d turn out to be a creature of habit.

She’d worn her running clothes as a cover, and every time the door to his building opened, she’d begin to pant as if she’d just finished a solid run, pressing two fingers against her pulse point. And each time, someone who was decidedly not Fitz would emerge from the building-- an elderly man with a cane, or a frazzled woman with twin boys in tow. By the fifth false alarm, she was beginning to wonder if she hadn’t already missed him entirely.

The door opened just then, and Jemma jumped into gear. She sped up her breathing, reaching up to muss her ponytail to really sell it. A second passed, then two, and finally--

 _Yes_. It was really him this time.

She began to purposefully stride toward his building, gaze glued to her phone so he’d think he noticed her first. Unfortunately, that meant she couldn’t look where she was going, and she barrelled right into him as he came down the front steps.

“Whoa!” he said, reaching out to steady them both with his hands on her upper arms. “Sorry, I must not have been paying-- Jemma?”

“Oh my god, Fitz! What a coincidence to run into you here!” _Smooth, Jemma._

He looked at her for a moment like he didn’t believe she was really there, but then his face broke into a smile. “I live here, actually.” He gestured with his thumb to the building behind him.

“Oh, really? It’s a lovely neighborhood. A great place to go for a run.” Jemma tapped the toe of her running shoe against the ground. “Good sidewalks.” She tried not to cringe at herself. While she’d gotten much better at lying under the tutelage of Ace Detective Melinda May, she’d never excelled at small talk.

“Yeah. I was just on my way to this little farmers’ market around the corner, actually. They do it every Saturday afternoon.”

“Oh, I love farmers’ markets.” That wasn’t a lie, at least. Jemma preferred to buy her produce fresh and local whenever she had the time.

Fitz nodded. “Me too.” He took a moment to look her up and down, and she had the errant thought that she was glad she had worn her nicer, more tailored workout attire rather than the ratty t-shirt and men’s basketball shorts she occasionally exercised in. “I see you’re out for a run now-- did you just get started, or…?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, I’ve just about finished. Got a good couple of miles in,” she said, wishing she’d thought to dampen her hair and shirt so she’d look more convincingly sweaty.

“Oh-- you wouldn’t want to--” He scratched at the side of his nose, shifting his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly. “I mean, if you like farmers’ markets, and you’re not doing anything right now--”

She grinned. “I’d love to join you.”

He let out a breath and smiled without saying anything for a moment, then gestured in the direction he’d been walking. “Shall we?”

The walk to the market was comfortable and easy. Jemma didn’t want to give herself away by asking too many tough questions so early in the game, so she stuck to easy topics-- favorite foods (he loved all types of pasta), favorite TV shows (Doctor Who and The X-Files, as she’d already guessed). Once they reached the market, they walked slowly up and down the stalls, pausing here and there to examine a mango or a particularly nice bulb of garlic.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked as she gave an avocado a gentle squeeze, checking for ripeness. She met his gaze expectantly. _Going to confess something, Fitz?_

“Is it avocado-related?”

He chuckled, reaching out to run his hand along the pile of dark green fruit. “Indirectly, maybe.”

 _Hmm. Unless you’re trading secrets for produce instead of money…_ “By all means.”

Fitz looked up at her with his face still angled down, his blue eyes shining in the afternoon light. “I don’t know what half of these things are,” he admitted, gesturing at the stalls of fruits and vegetables surrounding them. “I just kind of buy what looks interesting, and then Google it to figure out how to eat it later.”

Jemma watched him for a beat, taking in how he seemed both amused and apologetic about his own confession, and then burst out laughing. She reached over to a nearby barrel and held up a shiny, red apple. “You do recognize this, don’t you?”

“‘Course I do. Don’t be absurd, Jemma.” He wrinkled his nose. “That’s a kumquat.”

She laughed again and swatted at his arm, putting the apple back. “You’re hopeless, aren’t you?” He shrugged and nodded, and they began to walk again. “So what makes you enjoy coming to a farmers’ market if you aren’t very well-versed in fruits and vegetables?”

“Well, I like food. I like figuring things out. Seems like a win-win to me.”

Jemma watched him out of her periphery. He seemed relaxed, a stark contrast to the usual suspects she and May chased down. They were often squirrely men dodging loan payments, or conniving wives cheating on their husbands. Rarely were they as affable and charming, if a little dorky, as Fitz seemed to be.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to look at the screen. He frowned and silenced it immediately. _Curious._

“You can take that, if you need to,” she offered, even though he’d already tucked his phone away. “I don’t mind.”

“No, no, it’s not important.” Just as she was brainstorming ways to ask who had been on the phone without overstepping the boundaries of a new acquaintance, he spoke again. “It’s just Wick Labs. They call every couple of days or so.” He scowled. “Bloody nuisances, they are.”

He’d kept walking, but Jemma froze for a moment before getting back into step with him. _Wick Labs_. That was the rival lab that RoTech suspected him of trading information to. Had she stumbled upon a clue without even trying?

“Oh, really? Why do they call so often?” She tilted her head to the side.

“They’ve been trying to poach me since I started working at RoTech,” he said. “Not a huge deal or anything. They think I’m worth more than I am.” He shrugged self-deprecatingly. “But they call at all hours, even in the middle of the night one time, hoping to catch me off guard and get me to agree to work for them. Making new, outrageous offers every time I answer without realizing who’s calling.”

“Sounds like you’re in the middle of a bidding war.”

He laughed lightly, stopping to pick up a sweet potato. “I suppose I could be, if I wanted to be.”

“Why don’t you want to be? Seems like that would be a good thing, two companies both wanting you to work for them.”

Fitz grimaced. “Wick Labs doesn’t exactly have the best of reputations in the engineering world. I’ve heard some horror stories… stealing their employees’ designs and patenting them under the Wick name, contracts with shady companies, that kind of thing. Not really the sort I’d like to deal with.”

Jemma hummed in understanding. She was quickly trying to fit this new information into what she knew about Fitz, and what RoTech was accusing him of. Why would he steal information to sell to a company for which he had no respect? She supposed he might simply not be telling the truth about his distaste for Wick Labs. After all, lying and stealing tended to go hand in hand.

She narrowed her eyes at him. He was rotating the bulbous sweet potato he held in one hand, staring at it intently. He bit his lip. He looked nervous. Maybe he _was_ lying. She opened her mouth to ask him another question, see if she could prod more information out of him about his job offers from Wick, but he spoke first.

“You know what this is, don’t you?” His gaze was still fixed on the sweet potato. She furrowed her brow, peering down at it.

“A sweet potato?”

He puffed out a quick breath. “That’s what I thought.” He still wasn’t looking at her. Why was he acting so oddly all of a sudden, when he’d seemed so relaxed just a few minutes earlier?

“See?” She nudged him with her shoulder, hoping to get back on the conversational track they’d been on before. “You’re not so bad at farmers’ markets.”

Fitz’s mouth opened and he finally met her eyes, the corners of his lips quirking up. “Yeah. So, this sweet potato…” He took a deep breath. “I’m going to cook it tonight. A couple of friends are coming over, and we make food together, sometimes play a board game or watch a movie. And… d’you maybe want to come? To eat sweet potatoes with us?”

That wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. But she couldn’t help how much she immediately wanted to say yes.

He was frowning, though, clearly taking her silence as a bad thing. “There’ll be more than just sweet potatoes, of course,” he rambled. “Bobbi’s bringing the main dish and we figured Hunter couldn’t screw up a salad. And there’ll be beer. If you like beer. I have no idea if you like beer. Do you like beer?”

“I like beer,” she said. He stopped talking long enough to swallow, still looking at her like he knew she was about to say no.

Which she should. Unless she had reason to believe she’d uncover evidence at this little dinner party of his, she should be focused entirely on the case, chasing any other leads she had.

But the prospect of leaving him at the farmers’ market and going home to her empty apartment, ordering Chinese or Thai or stopping off for something healthier, poring over his case file and texting May about how the Wisconsin case was coming along-- none of it was anywhere near as appealing as eating sweet potatoes with Fitz.

“What can I bring?” she asked, and his answering grin made her feel less unsure of her decision. Worst case, she’d enjoy a lovely meal with a criminal and his friends. It wasn’t as if he was dangerous. (At least, she didn’t _think_ so.) And best case? She’d enjoy a nice meal _and_ catch him in the act, tying a neat bow on the case and bringing in a cool $50,000.

 _That_ was a win-win, if you asked her.

 

\---

 

At seven o’clock sharp, Jemma stood on his doorstep holding a tin full of lemon bars-- baked from a mix, though Fitz didn’t have to know that-- and a bottle of wine. She rang the bell and tucked the wine bottle in the crook of one elbow, reaching up with her now-free hand to smooth her curls.

She’d curled her hair because it was polite to try to look nice when you were meeting new people, wasn’t it?

“Jemma?” came Fitz’s voice through the intercom. She said that it was, and he buzzed her in.

He swung open the door to Apt. 107 before she’d gotten halfway down the hall, and she had to laugh at the ruffled, polka dot apron tied around his waist. He looked confused for a moment, then huffed when he realized what she was looking at.

“‘S all Bobbi’s fault,” he grumbled, taking the dessert tin and wine bottle from her and gesturing for her to head inside. “She bought it for me and practically forces me into it whenever we cook together.”

 _Bobbi’s a she?_ Had she overlooked a girlfriend during her research of Fitz? Jemma smiled tightly and let him pass so he could lead her further into the apartment. But no, he wouldn’t invite another woman over to meet his girlfriend, would he? And who was Hunter? Was that a girl’s name, too?

Her questions were soon answered when they entered the small kitchen to find a dark-haired man with his tongue down the throat of a tall, statuesque blonde woman. As soon as he spotted them, Fitz groaned loudly, and they broke apart. The man looked abashed; the woman did not.

“Sorry, we were just--” the man began.

“Hunter was helping me with a little taste test,” the woman said, winking at Jemma conspiratorially. Fitz set the lemon bars and wine down on the island countertop and sighed in exasperation.

“Could the two of you control yourselves? We’ve got _company_.” He put a good deal of emphasis on the last word, and the man-- Hunter, apparently, _was_ a man’s name, in this case-- nodded.

“So _you_ must be the famous Jemma,” he said, reaching out a hand to shake hers. “Fitzy here’s told us all about you.”

Jemma raised an eyebrow. “Has he? I wasn’t aware that Fitzy _knew_ all about me.” She smiled warmly at Fitz, who rubbed his temple with two fingers.

“I barely told them anything. Hunter’s a damned liar.”

“It’s true,” vouched Bobbi, stirring a pan of sauce on the stove. “He’s barely told us a thing.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Except that you were really, really pretty.” She flashed Fitz a canary-eating grin. For his part, he looked like he wanted to sink down into the floorboards, the tips of his ears and the back of his neck a bright pink.

“Beer! Who wants a beer?” He whirled around and busied himself in the fridge, and when he turned back holding a selection of bottles, his flush had gone down quite a bit. Jemma took one gratefully, trying to ease his discomfort with a soft smile. When he smiled back, she knew it had worked.

 

\---

 

Bobbi, it seemed, was a phenomenal cook. Even Hunter’s salad had turned out nicely, and the spread at the kitchen table was delicious.

Jemma took a sip of the wine they’d opened to drink with dinner. “So he waited outside his own apartment all day?”

Hunter shrugged, chewing with his mouth open. “I’d asked him to give us some privacy. So he gave us some privacy.”

“Yeah, and when he finally texted Hunter to see if we were done in here, he was only a _little_ mad when Hunter told him we’d been at the pub down the street the whole time,” Bobbi chimed in.

“Bloody wasted day, was what that was,” muttered Fitz, shaking his head at his friends with an expression of fond exasperation. “That’s enough stories about me for one night, anyway.” He turned his attention to Jemma, even as he spoke to Hunter and Bobbi. “Did I tell you that Jemma’s a journalist? A reporter. _And_ she has a background in forensic science.”

“That explains the appeal,” said Hunter. “Two nerds in a pod.” Jemma felt her cheeks get hotter, as Fitz fumbled his fork on the table.

“I don’t-- it’s just-- journalism seems fascinating, doesn’t it?” he asked, straightening his utensils in a neat row.

“Oh, I don’t know about that--” Jemma rebuffed.

“No, I agree,” interrupted Bobbi. “A girlfriend of mine went to journalism school at Northwestern. Where did you go, Jemma?”

 _Uh oh._ “I studied at Cambridge before moving to the U.S.” It wasn’t a lie. She just hadn’t studied _journalism,_ per se.

“Oh, do they have a good J-school?” Bobbi asked.

“They do,” answered Jemma. _Probably?_ “Bobbi, I would love to get the recipe for the marinade you used on this steak. It’s delicious.”

Bobbi cocked her head to the side, but then smiled. “I’ll email it to you later.”

Then Hunter and Fitz started arguing about football, and Jemma just listened as the conversation carried on around her. She kept almost forgetting that she was a private detective, essentially on an undercover operation to ferret out the truth about Fitz, not a woman on a sort-of double date. She couldn’t let that fact slip her mind. Fitz had the potential to be a really bad guy.

 

\---

 

But by the time dinner was over, she was really, really beginning to feel convinced that he wasn’t a bad guy at all. She’d offered to help with the dishes, since she’d missed much of the cooking process, and he’d refused to let her clean up alone. Bobbi and Hunter had escaped to the living room to either suck each other’s faces off or set up a game-- Jemma figured it was a 50/50 shot.

She stood next to Fitz at the sink, drying the dishes he’d hand over with yellow-rubber-gloved hands. Soft music played through Fitz’s speakers in the next room (an Al Green song, she noticed), and Jemma felt momentarily awed by an intense feeling of domesticity.

“Bobbi and Hunter seem nice,” she said, pushing the feeling down. “You do this often, these dinner parties?”

Fitz nodded. “Once a month at least. Bobbi travels a lot for work, so sometimes it’s just me and Hunter, and in those cases we’re more likely to go round to the pub than cook a full meal, but yeah. It’s nice.”

Jemma smiled, a genuine smile, as she took a pair of clean forks from him and rubbed them dry with a towel. “It is nice.”

“Yeah, we like to-- agh.”

She looked up at him, frowning. “What’s wrong?” His eyes were squinted and he twitched his nose a few times, looking like an overgrown rabbit. She couldn’t help but laugh. “Fitz? What is it?”

“A dish soap bubble went up my nose,” he said, voice strained. “It tickles.” He swiped at one gloved hand with the other, trying to pull the glove off, but the rubber slipped out of his soapy grip. Jemma continued to giggle as she watched him wrinkle and unwrinkle his nose.

“Here,” she said finally. “Let me.” She reached up with her palm and rubbed at the tip of his nose in a way that she hoped would help. He squished his nose back and forth against her hand until it apparently stopped tickling, then pulled back, looking both sheepish and adorable. Before she pulled her hand away, she found herself unable to fight the impulse to tweak his nose gently between her thumb and forefinger with a fond laugh.

He took a breath, turning to fully face her even as his gloved hands dripped onto the floor. “Thanks, Jemma,” he murmured.

She nodded, her laughter dying down. “You’re dripping,” she said.

“Hmm?” He glanced down at his hands very briefly before meeting her eyes again. “Oh. So I am.” He pulled off the gloves, successfully this time, and tossed them into the sink, still facing her. “Jemma--”

“Game’s set up!” called Hunter from the next room. “I call the thimble!”

“We’re not playing Monopoly, you dolt,” said Bobbi. Fitz’s opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then gestured to the living room.

“Guess we should--”

“--yeah, definitely, let’s go.” The moment, whatever it had been, had passed.

 

\---

 

By the end of the night, Bobbi had won two rounds of the game, which was decidedly more complicated than Monopoly. Jemma had won once, and Fitz had eked out one win of his own. Hunter accused them each of cheating at least twice over the course of the evening.

“So I’m going to email you the recipe for my marinade,” said Bobbi as they all gathered their things and headed for the front door. “And a few dozen embarrassing photos of Fitz, of course.”

“Oh, please do!” Jemma smiled up at her eagerly.

“Oh, please don’t,” Fitz deadpanned, but there was a smile on his face, too. He leaned against the door jamb as they filed out of the apartment one by one.

“Great time as usual, Fitz,” said Hunter, clapping him on the back. “I’ll call you later this week about watching the Tottenham match.”

Bobbi gave Fitz a hug, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “Thanks for hosting. I’d say we could have dinner at our place next time, but…”

“Buuut you don’t want to clean,” he finished for her.

“Not really, no. G’night!” Bobbi turned to Jemma and surprised her by wrapping her arms around her shoulders, too. “It was so nice to finally meet you, Jemma.”

“Oh-- lovely meeting you as well! Both of you,” she said, nodding to Hunter over Bobbi’s shoulder.

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing you again very soon,” Bobbi said with a wink. She waved, and then she and Hunter were gone, already arguing with each other halfway down the hall.

Fitz chuckled and leaned back against the doorway, watching them go. “They’re a lot sometimes, but they’re good friends.”

“I thought they were wonderful!” Jemma found that she didn’t have to fake any enthusiasm about Bobbi and Hunter, or the evening as a whole, at all. “I really enjoyed meeting them both.”

“Yeah, well.” Fitz rubbed at the back of his neck. “That’s because they were telling you embarrassing things about me every chance they got.”

She grinned. “Maybe.”

He leaned his head back against the door frame, a fond smile on his face as he watched her. “I’m glad you came over tonight. It was lucky I ran into you this afternoon.”

Her grin faltered. It hadn’t exactly been _luck_. Even so, she agreed with him. “I’m glad you invited me. I had a really lovely time.”

“So… maybe we could, ah.” He raised his eyebrows, looking suddenly unsure of himself. “Do it again? Sometime? Maybe even, um, without Bob and Hunter? As much as I like them,” he rushed to say.

 _Say no_ , she thought. “Yes,” she said. “Definitely.”

His answering grin and warm, if awkward, goodbye hug carried her all the way home.

He couldn’t be a bad guy. He couldn’t be a criminal. Criminals didn’t make you feel a fluttering in your stomach and your heart in your throat when they hugged you goodnight. They just didn’t.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Jemma woke up early the morning after the dinner party, but she stayed in bed, reliving Fitz’s goodnight hug and trying to reconcile that with the things that RoTech suspected him of doing. After fifteen minutes, she gave up. He wasn’t their guy. Couldn’t be.

She slid her feet into a pair of slippers and tugged her hair into a messy bun as she opened her laptop, starting her usual morning routine with her unread emails. 

> _ From: LOFT Subject Line: BOGO 50% off the season’s hottest styles. _

Deleted.

> _ From: BANK OF AMERICA Subject Line: Your new statement is available. _

Marked as unread. She’d worry about that later.

> _ From: MELINDA MAY Subject Line: Call me later today _

Starred. 

> _ From: BOBBI MORSE Subject Line: Marinade Recipe (+ baby pics of Fitz, don’t ask how I got them) _

She grinned, clicking on the email immediately. Bobbi delivered on her promise-- along with the recipe, she’d attached three of the cutest/most embarrassing (depending on who you asked) photos of Fitz between ages 1 and 11 that Jemma could have ever hoped for. She’d ended the email with an open invitation:

> _ Had a great time last night! Let me know if you ever want to get together for a drink or something-- I’m sure I can scrounge up a few more stories about our favorite nerd. -B _

Jemma’s fingers hovered over her keyboard for a few moments, but in the end, she barely had to contemplate her response.

> _ Bobbi-- _
> 
> _ I had a great time too, and I’d love to hang out again! Would brunch today be too soon? _

She added her phone number and hit send, then went about the rest of her morning routine-- brew a cup of tea, scan the news, hop in the shower. By the time she’d finished blow-drying her hair, she had a new text message.

> _ [9:23 a.m.] (415) 823-7787: Hey Jemma, it’s Bobbi. Brunch sounds great! 11:30, Pascale’s okay with you? _

It was most definitely okay with her, and a couple of hours later, they were seated at a patio table with a Bloody Mary in front of each of them.

“Where’s Hunter this morning?” Jemma asked, tucking her napkin in her lap under the glass table.

Bobbi shrugged, sipping her drink. “He won’t be awake ‘til at least noon, probably later. Sometimes I can slip out, grab brunch with a friend, come back and get in bed, and he doesn’t even realize I was gone.”

“Wow, that’s impressive.”

“Or a sleep disorder, depending on how you look at it.” 

Jemma laughed. “True.”

“So, Jemma,” Bobbi said, leaning forward across the table. Jemma sat up straighter in her chair and pulled her drink a little closer as she waited for Bobbi to continue. “Let’s get to the real point of this brunch.”

“The real point?” Her voice sounded thin to her own ears. She hadn’t really had any ulterior motives for asking Bobbi to brunch-- it had been more of an impulse than anything. The voice in the back of her head that sounded suspiciously like Melinda May, however, reminded her that the best way to get to know a suspect was often through the company he kept. She blinked innocently at Bobbi, willing the voice to hush.

“You know what I’m talking about. We can pass the Bechdel test later. For now, let’s talk about Fitz.” 

“Oh, I-- I didn’t--”

Bobbi leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, a skeptical look on her face. “You’re telling me that you  _ don’t  _ want to know everything there is to know about the guy?

Well, that would certainly solve things, wouldn’t it? A blush rose high on Jemma’s cheeks, and she stirred her straw in her Bloody Mary. “I mean, that wasn’t the  _ only  _ reason…”

“Oh, I know-- and I have a few questions I want to ask you about journalism school later. My niece is thinking of applying and I wanted to know if you’d recommend Cambridge’s program. But for now? Ask away.”

Jemma thought for a second, pushing aside the rush of guilt she felt at the mention of her faux journalism background. She’d have to Google Cambridge’s journalism curriculum on her phone the next time Bobbi used the restroom. All that aside, she had the opportunity to get to know Fitz better through one of his closest friends, and that could really benefit the case-- even if she’d begun to think she might be trying to prove him innocent rather than guilty now.

“Okay. Well… he seems very nice.”

“He is.”

The waiter dropped off their plates, which gave Jemma something to do with her hands. She cut into her veggie frittata before continuing. “Which brings up the question of… well, why he’s single. Smart, handsome, good job,  _ and  _ nice? There must be something else there.” She took a bite of her meal, chewed, and swallowed. “Perhaps he’s untrustworthy?”

Bobbi barked a laugh. “Fitz? Leo Fitz? Guy couldn’t lie to save his life.” She dug into her hash browns. “Well, maybe to save his life, he could. But generally speaking, he’s the opposite of a liar. Not very good at subtlety, that kind of thing.”

“So what’s wrong with him? There must be something.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty. Super-nerd, spends most of his time in the lab, awkward at parties, would almost always rather be home watching Doctor Who…” Bobbi ticked off the items on her fingers as she listed them, then narrowed her eyes at Jemma. “Yet somehow I don’t think any of those things would diminish the appeal for you.”

Jemma busied herself with her eggs. 

“Seriously, though, he’s a good guy. Not my type-- not a lot of girls’ type-- but worth really getting to know.” Her voice was sincere, and Jemma couldn’t help but smile. 

“I’d like to,” she said, and she meant it.

 

\---

 

An hour and a half later, Jemma felt like she’d gotten to know Bobbi, too, and she liked what she’d discovered. It helped that Bobbi seemed not only amazing, but also shrewd, a good judge of character. It seemed very unlikely that she’d have dodgy friends (Hunter excluded), which worked in Fitz’s favor.

They’d already begun planning their next brunch, to which Jemma hoped to invite Daisy as well. It had been too long since Jemma had had a group of girlfriends to spend time with, and she hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed it. 

“What are you doing with the rest of your day?” asked Bobbi as they signed their credit card slips.

“Oh, your typical Sunday routine. Laundry, grocery shopping. Checking in with my boss,” she added, remembering May’s early-morning email. 

“Hmm, working on the weekends, eh? You and Fitz have that in common-- he’s probably at the lab now.”

They stood from their table and headed for the low patio gate, exiting onto the sidewalk in the sun. 

“You should text him, by the way,” Bobbi added. “Shake up his typical Sunday routine.”

Jemma tucked her hair behind her ears, unable to completely dismiss the idea. “Maybe. Tell Hunter I said hello.”

“Oh, I will. He’ll be bummed we had brunch without him. He liked you, too, and he loves this place’s breakfast casserole.” She shrugged, smirking. “If only he could wake up before noon…”

Jemma laughed, feeling somehow like she’d known Bobbi and Hunter for years, like she’d spent countless brunches listening to them bicker or convincing Bobbi that the nice thing to do would be to bring him her leftovers. She liked the way it felt.

They hugged goodbye, and on the ten-block walk home, Jemma slowly came to the realization of what she had to do.

If she wanted to have Fitz, and his friends, in her life, she needed to drop the case. And she needed to do it soon.

 

\---

 

As she let herself into her apartment, she’d warmed to the idea even more. Sure, catching Fitz and turning him in would net her and May a cool $50k, but that was all moot if he  _ wasn’t  _ the culprit, as she’d come to believe. If she carried out the case to completion but didn’t deliver the goods-- didn’t get the proverbial money shot-- then she’d walk away with $25,000 for her efforts, which would go a long way to keep the lights on at May Investigations. But was it really worth it? As May had said, there would be plenty of other cases.

Not to mention the one May was currently investigating in Wisconsin, the mystery case that had kept her busy for weeks and taken her out of the state. All that work would surely pay off shortly.

Yes, Jemma decided. She’d drop the case, and be free to have Fitz and his friends in her life in any way she chose. It was the right thing to do.

She toed off her flats and curled up on her couch, pulling out her phone and dialing May’s number. She’d break the news to May, then call RoTech and tell them they’d have to find a new investigator (and strongly recommend that they reassess their accusations of Fitz while she was at it).

May answered on the third ring.

“How’s Wisconsin?” Jemma asked cheerily. May paused, and when she replied, her voice sounded duller than usual.

“Chilly. How’s the office?”

“I haven’t set fire to the place yet!” When May didn’t respond, Jemma frowned. “I was joking. I mean, of course, I wasn’t actually joking, because I indeed  _ haven’t  _ set fire to the place. Not that I  _ plan  _ to.”

“Jemma.”

“Right. You asked me to call you today?”

The line was silent for a moment. “I know I’ve been gone longer than I anticipated.”

“Oh, that’s alright.”

“I might be here a few more days, and I thought I should let you know.” Another pause. “The case I’m working isn’t exactly a case, Jemma.”

“Oh?”

“You’re a part of this business, and you have a right to know. We don’t stand to make any money off of this. It’s personal.”

“I see.” Jemma frowned. May had been working on the same case-- though she’d never divulged many details-- for at least a couple of months. That was a long time to go without getting paid.

“I apologize for keeping that from you.”

“It’s alright.” Surely May had her reasons.

“I wanted to make sure you knew that while I’m up here, I’m still available to help you with your corporate mole case. And any other cases that come in while I’m gone. I trust you, of course, but I know it can be valuable to discuss your ideas.” 

It was Jemma’s turn to pause. Months without getting paid for anything at all. How long could the business stay afloat without the kind of payday that came from a big case? “Thank you, May.”

“Anything you need to discuss regarding your current caseload?” 

_ Yes. I want to drop it so I can go on a date with a guy I just met. And oh, did I mention he’s the suspect? We’ll be in the poorhouse, but at least I’ll have a social life.  _ She couldn’t say any of that. “Everything’s going fine,” she said.

“Good,” said May. “I’ll check in again tomorrow. Be careful, Jemma.”

“You too,  May.” She hung up the phone with a sinking feeling in her stomach. 

A $50k payday was off the table unless Jemma was very, very wrong about Fitz’s innocence. But that $25k was still attainable, and all she had to do was finish out the case-- either prove that Fitz  _ wasn’t _ the mole, prove that someone else  _ was,  _ or hold out until the mole outed itself. 

She didn’t feel great about it, but was it really so wrong, working to prove that Fitz was guilty of nothing but being a brilliant and diligent employee? She pictured him hard at work on a Sunday afternoon, hunched over a prototype or set of schematics in the RoTech engineering lab. He had no idea that his employer suspected him of anything at all. He needed someone on his side.

Jemma could be that person. 

She texted him, just like Bobbi had suggested, before she could talk herself out of it.

 

\---

 

She’d only meant to say hello, see what he was up to, figuring perhaps she could show her support of Fitz without having to say as much. Instead, she somehow found herself suggesting they meet up for dinner at a hole-in-the-wall burger joint near the park.

It wasn’t a date. Just one friend supporting another friend without telling him that he was suspected of being a corporate traitor.

“How’d you find this place?” Fitz asked, pushing the door open so Jemma could enter the tiny restaurant first. 

She shrugged. The truth was, she’d tracked down a delinquent tenant of the owner’s a year or so ago. He’d been so grateful that he’d invited Jemma and May for burgers, on the house (on top of their fee, of course). She tried to eat healthy most of the time, but no one could resist the allure of Ray’s greasy-yet-delicious Stack Attack. 

But she couldn’t tell Fitz any of that, could she?

“A friend recommended it to me once,” was all she said.

They found a booth near the back, a little two-seater wedged in an alcove before the bathrooms, and the vinyl squeaked as they sat down. 

“How was the lab?” she asked, because of course, Bobbi had been right-- he’d been in the lab all afternoon. His eyes brightened even in the restaurant’s dim light, and he began to explain all he could about the project he’d been working on-- not in so much detail as to give anything top-secret away, but enough to keep Jemma intently interested. She interjected often with questions, suggestions and ideas of her own-- it had been a long, long time since she’d discussed science with anyone (and possibly never with someone quite so intelligent). It felt like a cool drink of water on a hot day.

“Okay, which one of you had the Stack Attack with extra pickles?” said Ray, as he approached the table carrying two plates piled high with food. Fitz took the offered plate, and Ray set the other (a Stack Attack with no pickles and extra tomato) down in front of Jemma. He widened his eyes when he spotted her. “Well, if it isn’t little Jemma.”

She grinned up at the older man. “Big Ray. Good to see you again.”

“You look thin. Get a double next time. No charge,” he said, and then his gaze slid to Fitz. “And who’s this gentleman you’ve got with you?” He waggled his thick, graying eyebrows at Jemma. “Boyfriend?”

“Ray!” She felt her cheeks heat, and avoided Fitz’s eyes. She should have known better than to suggest they go to Ray’s-- he did love to tease her.

“Ahh,” Ray responded, holding up both hands to placate her, but with a smirk on his face. “It’s new. I get it.”

“You’re incorrigible,” she said, but there was no bite to it.

“And you’re too skinny.” Then, to Fitz, as he backed away from their table: “Make sure she eats that whole thing.”

“I will,” said Fitz, and Jemma finally met his eyes. He looked simultaneously amused and astounded. Once Ray had retreated to the kitchen through grimy swinging doors, Fitz chuckled. “Is he the friend who recommended the place?”

She laughed, wrinkling her nose. “You could say that. Sorry about him. He means well.”

“Don’t apologize! I like a place that has character,” he said, gesturing around them. “You heard the man. Eat. I’d hate to think what he’ll do to me if you don’t.” 

Jemma picked up her burger and took a big bite, and Fitz followed suit. For a few minutes, they just ate. Fitz dipped one of his fries into the ramekin of barbecue sauce on Jemma’s plate, and she took the opportunity to steal the tomato slice he’d pushed off his burger. It felt almost like they were an actual couple on a real date.

But it wasn’t a date.

“So,” Fitz began, crumpling up his napkin and setting it in the middle of his empty plate. “I suppose you need to get home after this. I’m probably keeping you from big Sunday evening plans.” There was a note of hope in his voice that she couldn’t help but notice.

She should say yes, that he was keeping her, that she had business to attend to, that she’d made no progress on proving him guilty  _ or  _ innocent as they debated science over burgers and fries (though she should perhaps leave off that last part).

“Not at all,” is what she heard herself say as she pushed her plate away. “Am I keeping you from anything?”

“No!” His answer was quick and insistent. “Nothing at all.” He picked up the wrapper from his straw, making little tears along the paper, each precisely an inch apart. “Don’t suppose you’d want to go for a walk? The park closes when it gets dark, but we can still walk around the perimeter. If you want.”

She found herself wanting, very badly. And really, would it do any harm? So she agreed. After all, more time spent with Fitz could only help her case. Once they’d settled the bill, they started down the sidewalk along the park’s wrought-iron fence, shoulders very nearly brushing so they could allow other pedestrians to pass by.

“I’ll have to take you to my favorite divey pub next time, if you like Ray’s,” said Fitz, letting his fingers trail from one rung of the fence to the next. “I mean-- that is, if you-- if there’s a next time.”

Jemma looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, noting his blush. A rush of affection welled up unbidden within her, and she looked away to keep her grin in check. “Next time. What kind of a pub?”

He exhaled. “It kind of defies categorization. Hunter’s friends with the ‘chef,’ if you can call him that.”

“Hunter seems like the type to have valuable friends in low places, doesn’t he?”

Fitz let out a hearty laugh. “He is that. Not quite sure how he and Bobbi work, but they do. Well-- except when they don’t. But mostly they do.”

“I like them,” said Jemma. 

“Me too,” said Fitz. “Tell me about your friends.” They’d reached the end of the park, where they could turn around and walk back the way they came, or turn right and take the long way around. Jemma turned right.

“Oh, there’s not a lot to tell,” she said. “My job keeps me quite busy. I do have a best friend, Daisy, who I’d love for you to meet sometime. I think you’d like her.”

“But would she like me?”

She shot him an incredulous look. “Of course she would. _ I _ like you.” That made his blush come back, and she decided she really, really enjoyed making him blush. “She knows I have impeccable taste, in any case.” 

“Oh, do you now?” he asked, recovering. “Let’s see... “ He began to tick off items on his fingers. “Likes my friends, likes delicious and artery-clogging burgers, likes science--” He gave her an appraising look. “Your hypothesis seems to hold up.”

“We can conduct further testing another time… perhaps at that dive pub of yours,” she suggested, which made him grin down at the sidewalk. 

When he looked back up, he paused, brow furrowed. She stopped walking and looked up to see what had caught his attention, and realized-- they’d walked all the way past the park and arrived in front of his apartment. 

“I wasn’t even paying attention,” he said sheepishly. “We passed the park a few blocks ago.” 

“It seems we did.” 

They stood, facing each other in front of his stoop. Jemma thought she should say goodbye and walk the few blocks home before it got too late, but her feet felt glued in place. 

“I hate to cut the evening short…” he said, reaching a hand up to rub at the nape of his neck.

“Me too,” she mused.

“It’s Sunday,” he began, “so you probably have to get up early tomorrow.” 

“Mmhmm.”

“Otherwise, I’d ask if you wanted to, ah, come up. For a drink. Or to take a look at that article I was telling you about.”

“Oh.”

“But, it’s Sunday.” He looked torn, like he too was rooted to the spot, like something was on the tip of his tongue. He licked his lips.

“Uh huh.”

“So I should let you get to bed. Ah, to your bed. To home. Your home.”

“Fitz?” 

“Hmm?”

“I’m actually not that tired… if you wanted to show me that article anyway.” It was true-- she wasn’t that tired, and with May out of town, there was no need to get to the office bright and early. And in any case, she  _ did  _ want to take a look at the article he’d told her about. And they weren’t on an actual date-- non-dates could end in one party inviting the other party in to review a scientific journal, couldn’t they? It was fine.

He nodded quickly, bounding up the stairs to the building door and letting her in ahead of him. She led the way to his apartment, feeling him close behind her. When she reached #107, she turned too fast and he stopped short. 

“Sorry,” she said, though she didn’t back away. She couldn’t. She was right up against the door. 

“‘S okay.” He reached out with his key to unlock the door, his hand just brushing her hip, and slid the key into the lock. He turned it and the door opened behind her, and she wasn’t sure if it was momentum or inertia or simple inevitability but suddenly his lips were on hers, her hands fisting his shirt, pulling him closer, pulling him inside and kicking the door shut behind her.

He kissed her eagerly, tenaciously, sliding a hand up the back of her shirt to stroke the skin at the small of her back. She nipped at his lip and pressed herself closer to him, running a hand up to comb through his curls. He let out a small moan, and she made a mental note of it for future reference-- she was very good at reading clues. 

“Couch,” he muttered into her mouth, guiding her across the apartment, through the kitchen and into the living room, where they collapsed onto the sofa gracelessly. She giggled, her face pressed against his chest, and heaved herself up with one hand on the cushion so she was propped up on top of him. He looked up at her with an awed expression that told her nearly everything she needed to know, and she leaned down to press another kiss against his soft, sweet mouth. 

He cupped her cheek reverently, his other hand stroking at her lower back, his forefingers tucking into the waistband of her jeans and pulling her tight against his hips. 

Straddling him fully (which earned her a groan as his eyes slipped closed), she sat up, running her hands down his chest all the way to his waist, intent on sliding them up his shirt-- the better to remove it-- and the last conscious thought she had was  _ thank god he’s one of the good guys _ when she saw it. A flash of bright yellow on the desk behind where his head was propped up on the arm of the sofa caught her attention. A Post-It note.

_ Wick Labs appt. 9am. Monday. Bring flash drive. _

It was in his handwriting, which she recognized from his scorecard at game night, and anyway, it was sitting on his dresser, in his apartment. Who else’s could it have been? She’d let her guard down, let herself believe in the best case scenario, and forgotten that sometimes, things really were as bad as they seemed. She felt like she’d been doused with ice water and she stiffened on top of him. 

“Jemma?” he asked, looking up at her with concern. One of his hands ran up her forearm and she jerked it away, climbing off him and smoothing out her disheveled shirt. 

“I just remembered--” She picked up her purse, which she’d dropped in their haste to get horizontal, and slipped her feet back into her shoes. He sat up, brows knitting together as he watched her move around his living room. 

“Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine,” she said, finally looking him in the eye. She smiled, eyes tight. “I just have an early day tomorrow, after all.” 

“Oh,” he said, clearly disappointed. “Well, at least let me walk you--”

“No, no, it’s fine!” She hurried out of the living room and through his kitchen, and he got up to follow her. “I’ll just show myself out.” She was in the foyer before he could reach the kitchen, and she tossed a wave over her shoulder as she let herself out the front door. 

It wasn’t until Jemma was out of the building and halfway down the block that she felt her breathing return to normal. She crossed her arms over her chest and kept her head down as she made her way home, just one thought echoing in her head.

_ You think you know somebody. _


	4. Chapter 4

Jemma kept her head down as she unlocked her apartment door. She didn’t bother to turn on the light as she shuffled inside, dropping her purse on the side table on her way ain. She maneuvered through the small apartment by rote memory, flopping down onto her bed moments later without so much as slipping off her shoes.

It had been quite a long day.

As she curled up atop her bedcovers, she replayed the evening in her mind, from its lovely beginning to its heartwrenching end. She scrubbed her hands over her face, trying to ignore the mental image of Fitz’s confused expression as she scurried out of his apartment.

She’d let herself get too close, and let her personal feelings cloud her judgment. She fully acknowledged that the Post It note she’d spotted was far from damning evidence, but it had brought her back to reality. Her reality. She was a private investigator working a case, not a woman in the early stages of a great romance. Even if Fitz wasn’t guilty, she’d let herself forget that he  _ might _ be, and that was a bad idea-- even a dangerous one-- in her line of work.

She heaved a huge sigh, rolling over onto her back in the middle of her bed. She retrieved her phone, which she’d set on her bedside table, and set the alarm on it.

It looked like she had a 9 a.m. appointment to attend the next morning.

 

\---

 

Early Monday morning, Jemma sped through her daily routine, barely looking in the mirror. She slipped on a black jacket over a grey top and pretended her sartorial choices weren’t meant to match her mood. That was much too overwrought for her, even if fairly accurate.

She pulled her favorite purple Starbucks travel mug out of her cabinet as she vacillated between tea and coffee, but ultimately decided she needed all the caffeine she could get. It didn’t help that the last person she’d shared tea with was the person she was hoping to catch in the act of corporate espionage later that morning.

By 8 a.m., she’d already parked around the corner from Fitz’s building. He lived a 20 minute drive from the Wick Labs campus (32 minutes in current traffic conditions, Jemma’s GPS app told her in a mechanical voice). He wouldn’t have left for the meeting yet. 

The plan was to return to classic PI work-- good, old-fashioned tailing a suspect. She’d follow him to Wick Labs and do the best she could to figure out what he was there for. Had she known about the meeting in advance, she could have bugged him, but she’d have to settle for eyes-only recon this time. She hoped it would be enough.

At 8:36, he emerged from the building’s front door. She watched him in her sideview mirror. His shirt looked wrinkled, and he wore a frown as he hurried to his car.

Based on traffic, he was going to be late to his meeting-- but Jemma supposed criminals didn’t care much for punctuality, anyway.

What interested her the most, she thought, as he slid into the front seat of his car and pulled out onto the street, was the manilla folder he’d carried in the crook of his left arm. If only she’d stuck around longer the evening before, maybe rifled through his files while he was in the bathroom, then she’d be one step closer to putting this case behind her for good.

She pulled out onto the street a few cars behind him, careful not to get close enough for him to spot her in his rearview mirror. Fortunately, he’d never been in a position to see what kind of car she drove. 

At 9:08 a.m., he parked in a spot marked “Visitors Only” in front of Wick Labs. Jemma parked three rows over, in a spot with no markings at all. She watched him walk into the building with his hands tucked in his pockets, the manilla folder under one arm, and snapped a few surreptitious photos with her camera. 

Should she follow him inside? She had no idea where in the building the meeting might be taking place, and with no audio surveillance equipment, going inside might be fruitless and risky. Better to stay in the car and glean what she could from there.

“And now, we wait,” she muttered, pulling her camera back into her lap, just in case. She shifted to get more comfortable in her seat, knowing it could be awhile. She flicked on the radio, wrinkling her nose at the Hall & Oates song playing on her favorite station, and flicked it back off. She waited.

As it turned out, she didn’t have to wait for long. It was barely 9:30 when Fitz pushed through Wick Labs’ tinted double-doors. He didn’t look any happier than he had earlier, she noted, and even more importantly, he no longer carried a folder. 

She took a few more photographs through her open car window, careful to lean back in her seat so he wouldn’t spot her. Going in with a folder and coming out without it wasn’t solid evidence, but it was enough to puncture the last bit of hope that she hadn’t realized had been floating in the back of her mind. 

Fitz was more than likely guilty, just like they usually were. 

She kept trailing him at a distance, but her heart wasn’t in it. He drove to RoTech and walked into the building like he hadn’t just sold them out to their most nefarious competitor. She supposed that kind of coldness was a trait she should be used to in her line of work. 

She supposed that, before meeting Fitz, she had been. 

 

\---

 

The first text came in just before lunch. She sat hunched over her computer in the May Investigations office-- otherwise empty, with May still on her personal case in Wisconsin-- when her phone buzzed.

> _ [11:48 a.m.] Fitz: Hey, Jemma-- I had a really nice time with you yesterday. Hope your early morning went well. _

She ignored it. 

For the rest of the day, she alternated between brainstorming on the Fitz case and filling out old paperwork from cases that were long ago closed-- menial tasks that did little to keep her mind occupied.

He texted again around 4.

> _ [4:03 p.m.] Fitz: Me again. Sorry to double text-- I just wanted to apologize if I did something to scare you off. Definitely didn’t mean to. I think you’re grape _
> 
> _ [4:05 p.m.] Fitz: GREAT. I meant great, not grape. Bloody autocorrect.  _
> 
> _ [4:06 p.m.] Fitz: Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your day. Call me if you find yourself in need of tea-guessing skills. Or anything. _

Jemma stared down at her phone. How did he manage to be so endearing even under strong suspicions of wrong-doing? She sighed, and glanced at the clock. It may have been 4 o’clock there, but it was 5 o’clock somewhere, wasn’t it?

 

\---

 

Half an hour later, she and Daisy sat side-by-side on barstools at MacLaren’s, the bar down the street from Jemma’s apartment. 

“You do know I have an actual job, right?” Daisy sipped at the beer that Jemma had ordered for her before she’d even arrived. “Can’t just skip out in the middle of the afternoon to get drunk.”

“And yet, here you are,” said Jemma. 

Daisy shrugged. “True. Slow afternoon.” She turned her attention to the bartender. “We’re going to need a round of shots,” she said, then glanced over at Jemma. “And then we’re probably gonna need another round of shots, and then another, and so on and so forth for the rest of the night. Cool?”

He nodded, pouring alcohol into a pair of shot glasses and sliding them in front of the women. Jemma wrinkled her nose, but took the shot. 

“Okay,” said Daisy, stacking the empty shot glasses. “Now that that’s out of the way. What the hell is wrong with you? You look terrible.”

Jemma laughed sardonically. “Thanks, pal.”

“No, I mean-- are you okay?”

Jemma let out a sigh. “I’m fine. I’m just… The bad parts of this job really sneak up on you, you know?”

“Ah. This is Fitz-related?”

“Yes,” Jemma replied, slumping on her barstool. “I just-- I let myself start to think he couldn’t be a bad guy.”

“And he is?”

“He might be. All evidence seems to point in that direction.” Jemma swirled her finger in the condensation on the bar, probably leftover from the last sad-sack whose job drove them to drink on a Monday afternoon. “And even if he’s not, the fact that I let myself get so close to him and forget that I was working a case to begin with is a huge problem.”

Daisy raised her eyebrows. “Wait-- when you say close to him, do you mean…”

Jemma rolled her eyes and hoped Daisy didn’t notice her blush. “Not exactly. But almost. And then I found something in his apartment that made me realize that I probably shouldn’t trust him at all.”

“So he’s a bad guy,” Daisy said, taking another long drink of beer. “They’re all bad guys, or bad gals, as the case may be, in your line of work. Why let this one get to you?”

Jemma frowned. She thought back to her first meeting with Fitz, when he’d been so charming and awkward, and the first night she’d watched him through his living room window, when he’d settled in for a Doctor Who marathon. She tried to reason out why Fitz stood out as special among her many cases, and she couldn’t put a name to it. He just was. 

“I started to really like him, Daisy,” she said after a long moment. “Him, his friends, his life… I thought maybe I could fit in it somehow. But not anymore. That’s done.”

Daisy watched her for a second, then leaned forward on the bar. “Barkeep? Time for that next round.” She leaned back and rubbed Jemma’s shoulder comfortingly. “You know what we’re gonna do?”

Jemma looked up from the bar. “What?”

“We’re gonna solve this case. We’re gonna prove he’s a bad guy once and for all, so you can put him behind you and move onto the next one.”

Jemma sniffed. “Okay.”

“But first?”

“Yeah?”

The bartender placed another round of shots in front of them, and Daisy grinned. “We drink.”

 

\---

 

Starting drinking in the late afternoon tends to make for an early night. Jemma’s mind was fuzzy by dinnertime, and by 8 p.m., she and Daisy were both well and truly drunk.

“Should we order food? We should probably order food,” Jemma fretted, as another shot was placed in front of her.

“Barkeep, bring us the finest chicken tenders in the land,” Daisy requested, sweeping her arm out lavishly and almost knocking over the beer of the patron beside her. “Sorry! So sorry,” she told him, giggling.

Jemma frowned. “Should I feel better? I feel drunker. But not better.” She pouted at Daisy. “Why don’t I feel better?”

“Because Fitz.”

Jemma’s eyes lit up. “Fitz!”

“No!” Daisy reached over and covered Jemma’s mouth with her palm. “Don’t say his name. He’s dead to you.”

“Mmmph.” 

Daisy removed her hand slowly, hesitantly. “You’re not going to bring him up again, are you?”

Jemma shook her head.

“Good.” Daisy brightened as the bartender placed a plateful of chicken tenders and French fries on the bar in front of them. She reached for the ketchup, squirting a considerable amount all over the fries, and missed Jemma reaching for her phone and holding it in her lap beneath the bar. 

Jemma knew she had a very good reason for not texting Fitz back. She just couldn’t quite remember what it was. She scanned his last couple of messages, the letters on the screen swimming a bit. With a sidelong glance at Daisy (who was happily munching chicken tenders), she typed out a reply.

> _ [8:13 p.m.] Jemma: Youre grape _
> 
> _ [8:13 p.m.] Jemma: *You’re _
> 
> _ [8:14 p.m.] Jemma: Not autocorrect just drunkcorrect _

He replied almost immediately.

> _ [8:15 p.m.] Fitz: Everything ok? _
> 
> _ [8:16 p.m.] Jemma: A-ok.  _
> 
> _ [8:17 p.m.] Fitz: Well, good then. Maybe we can go get a drink or something later this week?  _

Jemma was just about to reply with a resounding yes when Daisy noticed what was going on and snatched the phone out of her hand.

“Hey!”

“You promised no Fitzing.” Daisy scanned the text messages, then gave Jemma an admonishing glare. “You’re Fitzing.” She turned in her stool so her back faced Jemma, and when she turned back around, she placed the phone on the bar between them. Jemma grabbed it, but when she swiped to unlock it, she couldn’t understand anything on the screen.

“I changed your display language to Mandarin Chinese. No more Fitzing.” Daisy dipped a fry in ketchup. “I’ll change it back for you in the morning. Oh, and I’m obviously crashing on your couch and calling in sick tomorrow, of course.”

“Obviously,” said Jemma, staring longingly at her phone. She set it down on the bar next to her full shot glass, and shrugged. She wasn’t supposed to be Fitzing--  _ texting _ \-- anyway. Might as well give Daisy her full attention before all the crispiest chicken tenders disappeared. 

She’d deal with real life in the morning.

 

\---

 

“Ow,” muttered Jemma as she stirred awake. She squeezed her eyes tightly against the offensive light pouring in through her bedroom window, and burrowed further under the covers. When she finally cracked open one eye, she spotted a big glass of water on the table beside her, and felt a surge of gratefulness for herself or for Daisy, whichever of them had been smart enough to put it there.

She drained the glass and shuffled into her living room, where Daisy was sprawled across her couch, one arm hanging over the side. 

“Wakey, wakey,” she said in the most sing-song voice she could manage, pushing Daisy’s feet over so she’d have room to sit on the couch. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“Jemma, I am a world-champion hacker,” Daisy mumbled, eyes still closed. “Was, at least. I have ways of making your life miserable.”

“I’ll make us coffee,” offered Jemma.

“Have I ever told you you’re my best friend?” 

Twenty minutes later, they were both awake and as alert as they could hope to be, sitting on opposite ends of the couch and nursing giant mugs of coffee in silence. Suddenly, a flash of a memory popped into Jemma’s head, and she stiffened.

“My phone,” she said, eyes darting around the room. Daisy pointed with her bare foot to the chair across the room, where Jemma’s purse sat in a heap. She crossed to it and pulled out the device, frowning when she couldn’t read any of the text on the screen. 

“Mandarin, remember?” Daisy gestured for it, and Jemma tossed it to her. After a few swift taps, she set it down on the couch. “All fixed.”

Jemma sank back down and read her texts, sighing. “I suppose it could have been worse. At least you stole it before I could ask Fitz to come meet me at the bar, or marry me or something.” 

Daisy grimaced into her coffee mug. “Yeah, you don’t want to end up shackled to a white collar criminal for the rest of your life.” 

“What am I going to do, Daisy?” Jemma let the phone fall back to the couch and ran a hand through her hair. 

They both sat in silence for a few long moments. Jemma tried to review the facts of the case in her mind, but her headache made it more difficult than usual. 

“Maybe the problem is that you’ve been thinking that Fitz didn’t do it,” said Daisy, after a few minutes.

“Exactly. That  _ is  _ the problem.”

“Right. So now you have to think about it as if he definitely  _ did  _ do it.”

Jemma picked at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “If Fitz  _ did  _ do it… if he was the one stealing RoTech’s proprietary secrets… if he was delivering information to Wick Labs yesterday during that meeting…” The answer felt close and far away all at once.

Daisy chuckled. “If he dropped off some big intel yesterday, he’s probably feeling flush with cash today.” 

“Hmm?”

“I mean-- why else would he be doing any of this to begin with, right? It’s gotta be a money thing.” 

Jemma thought about that. “A money thing,” she murmured. “Follow the money and see where it leads.” 

“What?”

She looked up at Daisy, but this time, she was starting to smile. “Follow the money. Daisy, that’s it! Or, could be it. You can hack into someone’s bank account, can’t you?”

Daisy laughed. “Is Google Fiber superior to all other internet providers?” Jemma looked at her blankly. “Sorry-- I mean, yes, I can.” 

Within minutes, they were up and running. Daisy typed away on her laptop, as Jemma made notes on a fresh sheet of paper with her favorite pen. They were close to a breakthrough. She could feel it.

“Okay… let’s see. Found his checking account. I’m in.”

“And?”

Daisy bit her lip. “Looks like… a pretty solid paycheck every two weeks from RoTech… guy doesn’t have much reason to sell secrets if he’s making bank like that.”

Jemma rolled her eyes and craned her neck to see the laptop screen for herself. “What else? These transactions might be coming from Wick Labs directly.”

“If they’re smart, they’d disguise the source. But honestly, everything in here looks pretty legit. Paycheck’s the same amount every pay period. A monthly check goes out to his property management company-- rent. Regular transfers to an investment account-- guy’s a saver. Then it’s all little stuff-- Netflix, Uber, the deli down the street.” She threw up her hands. “Absolutely nothing red-flag-worthy.” 

“What about other accounts? Hidden ones?” 

“I can look a little harder. I found a separate savings account, but nothing unusual there either. I guess he could have some kind of off-shore accounts… those are harder to track. Extra layers of security and all that.”

“Could they be paying him in something that isn’t money? Stock options, or something?” Jemma jotted down the idea in her notes. 

“Maybe.” Daisy tapped her fingers on her trackpad, thinking. “I wonder how long this has been going on.”

“The info leak started several months ago, according to RoTech’s Security team,” Jemma responded. She flipped back through her pad to find notes on the conversation she’d had with Alphonso Mackenzie, back when she’d first taken the case. “All intel seems to pertain to the engineering department, which is why they suspected Fitz to begin with. Well, that, and an anonymous tip.” 

“Wonder if I could hack their tip line.”

Jemma furrowed her brow. “It just makes no sense. If Fitz is being paid so well, in a job that he seems to truly love, and has so little respect for Wick Labs… why would he do it?”

“Now you’re back to thinking he’s innocent?”

“No!” Jemma sighed. “I don’t know.”

Daisy shut her laptop and stood up, stretching. “All I know is, if I was making that kind of cash, and was the head of an award-winning department at a place like that, I’d probably be happy to mind my P’s and Q’s, ya know?”

“Yeah,” Jemma said softly.  _ The head of the department.  _ “Why would he jeopardize that?” Then something that Marcus, the security guard who had shown her around RoTech’s campus, had said came to her mind.  _ Seems like every time somebody comes by my desk, says they’re starting work that day, they’re an engineering hire.  _ “Daisy, you can hack into  _ any _ one’s bank account, can’t you?”

“I mean, I’m good, but not  _ that  _ good. Not if you’re talking like, Obama’s, or something.”

“No, no, just regular people.” Jemma pulled up her browser on her phone and searched for RoTech’s website, navigating to their Meet Our Team page and scrolling down to the section marked ‘Engineering’. She slid the phone over on the coffee table. “Just these people.” 

Daisy sat back down on the floor, peering at the phone and opening her laptop again. “Piece of cake.”

Jemma stood up and began to pace the living room. She wasn’t sure why she’d never thought of it before-- but then, her job had been to investigate Fitz, to prove his guilt, not to look into the team that worked beneath him. 

“Nothing unusual going on in Bill Pinyon’s checking history,” said Daisy after a few minutes. “Ooh, except for a crippling porn addiction. Think we should call Bill’s wife? Maybe you can charge her for solving a case before she even knew she needed you?”

“Let’s focus on this for now.”

“Got it. Let’s see… Bethany Alvarez is clear. Wow, those are some massive student loan payments. Glad there’s little need for a PhD in the former hacker/current IT consultant field.” 

“Keep going.” 

“Okay, okay. Gregg Bottoms--” Daisy chuckled. “That’s an unfortunate name.  _ Bottoms _ .” Jemma gave her a look. “Sorry, sorry. Gregg looks on the up-and-up.”

Jemma groaned, both hands wrapping around the back of her neck. “There’s got to be something. Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place? Maybe we  _ should  _ be looking into stock options?”

“Wait a sec…”

“What is it?”

“Kenneth Turgeon. Found two checking accounts for this dude. One’s the usual, a monthly mortgage payment, credit card payments, lots of Chinese food orders. Nothing special whatsoever.”

“But there’s another account?”

“Yeah.” Daisy leaned closer to her screen. “It’s got a dozen deposits in it, no withdrawals. None of the transactions are older than a few months ago.”

Jemma rushed over and dropped to her knees beside Daisy. “Are they from Wick Labs?”

“No, but like I said, any shady company worth their salt would disguise the source. It says they’re from WHCORP-INTL. Let me look into it.”

For a few minutes, the only sounds in the room were Daisy’s fingers on her keyboard. Then, suddenly, the typing stopped. 

“WHCORP-INTL is owned by Daniel Whitehall. Know that name? Is that the CEO of Wick Labs or something?”

Jemma frowned. “No.” She consulted her notes. “The CEO of Wick Labs is someone named…” She turned another page until she found it. “Sunil Bakshi.”

“Hang on,” said Daisy. She typed out a few more searches. “Aha!” 

“What is it?” Jemma held her breath.

“Sunil Bakshi may be the CEO of Wick Labs, but he’s on the payroll of WHCORP-INTL, too. Looks like Whitehall is the one pulling the strings here. Bakshi’s just a puppet.”

“So that means--”

“WHCORP-INTL is Wick Labs, Wick Labs is making regular deposits into Kenneth Turgeon’s checking account, and if this pans out, you owe Fitz a big, fat apology.” 

Jemma had never felt her heart swell and sink at the same time before. She grimaced, and picked up her phone. “I’ll call Mackenzie. See if they can verify all of this on their end, and clear Fitz’s name.” She started to walk into her bedroom to make the call, then turned around. “And Daisy?”

“Yeah?” Daisy looked up with a proud smile on her face. 

“Thank you. You’re really quite good at this.”    
  


\---   
  


She’d reached Mackenzie and filled him in on what she and Daisy had found, and he’d sounded hopeful. He wanted Fitz to be innocent as much as she once had, it seemed. He told her that he’d look into Turgeon and get back to her as soon as he could confirm that the latest engineering hire had been the one trading information, not Fitz.

Daisy went home in the early afternoon to get some rest and finish up some actual work-- “the boring stuff,” she’d called it. That left Jemma alone and antsy.

She went into the May Investigations office, but realized there wasn’t much she could do there. May had texted her saying she’d be coming back that evening, but for the time being, her only case was in limbo. And anyway, being in the office did nothing to take her mind off the past couple of weeks. Around 4 p.m., she grabbed her purse and locked the door behind her.

She felt like she walked the length of the city, winding through neighborhoods and along the river, one hand nervously clutching her phone inside her purse lest she miss Mackenzie’s call. She didn’t think about what she’d do once she had her answer. She couldn’t. One thing at a time.

Her feet began to feel sore from so much walking as she passed the park, trailing her fingers along the iron fence. It was past dinnertime, and though her stomach churned with nerves, she knew she’d begin to feel sick if she didn’t eat something, and Ray’s was right there.

Minutes later, she was seated at a tiny booth in Ray’s dining room, though thankfully not the same one in which she’d sat across from Fitz.

“The usual, Jemma?” asked Ray. He’d come out from behind the kitchen doors as soon as he’d spotted her through the window, and it was nice to see a friendly face. 

“Yes, please. Though I don’t know how much I’ll be able to eat, so if you could bring a to-go box, that would be lovely.”

She sipped at a soda until Ray brought out her burger, and as she’d predicted, she could only pick at it. She nibbled a fry, eyes glued to the screen of her phone on the table, willing it to ring. She just wanted to know. 

And then, like she’d made it happen, it rang,

“Jemma Simmons speaking,” she said into the phone with urgency. 

“Jemma, it’s Alphonso Mackenzie again.”

“What did you find out?” A niggling voice in the back of her mind chastised her for being impolite, but there was no time for pleasantries. 

“I gotta say, you’re good.”

Her heart was in her throat. “What do you mean?”

“Not only did you prove that my good friend isn’t stealing a damned thing, but you caught the guy who is. Turgeon’s the one. Seems that Bakshi over at Wick Labs has a lot of influence over him, had him infiltrate RoTech expressly to steal secrets.”

“What about Fitz?”

“He had nothing to do with it. At least, he didn’t do anything wrong-- Turgeon was purposefully leaking info that made it look like Fitz was the one. Framing him, I guess. I don’t know why, though.”

“They wanted to hire him,” she said softly.

“Wick did?”

“They’ve been trying to get him to work for them all along. They must have thought if they got him fired, he’d be forced to go work for them.” It all made sense-- an unhinged, evil sort of sense.

Mackenzie chuckled. “Doubt Fitz’d ever consider it. I should never have suspected him to begin with. The man’s got a moral code.” 

Guilty tears pricked at the corners of Jemma’s eyes at that, and she blinked a few times to clear them. “That he does.”

“In any case, Jemma, thank you for your hard work. Go ahead and send us the invoice for the fee we discussed and I’ll make personally sure it gets taken care of by accounting. Remind me how much it was again, the full amount for coming through on the case?”

She hesitated. “We agreed on $50,000.”

“Well worth it, if you ask me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mackenzie.”

“Call me Mack.”

“Mack. Thank you.”

“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Jemma.”

She paused for a moment before responding, feeling a mixture of shame and utter elation. “I’m just so relieved that Fitz isn’t guilty.” 

“You can say that again,” he said, chuckling into the phone. “Have a nice evening, Jemma.”

She thanked him again, then hung up the phone. It was time to figure out what to do next. She pulled money out of her wallet, enough to cover her uneaten burger and a nice tip, and placed it on the table before sliding out of the booth. She wanted to go home and get a grasp on what she could say to Fitz, how she could ever possibly explain everything, before she made an effort to contact him again.

But, as it turned out, she didn’t have that luxury.

“What are you doing here?” She didn’t mean it to sound so accusatory, but she hadn’t expected to see the man in question standing there, hovering next to the booth behind hers with a stunned expression on his face.

“Best burgers in the city,” he said after a moment, voice hoarse. “Someone recommended it to me once.”

She cringed. “I don’t know how much--”

“How much I overheard? Enough, I’d say.”

“Fitz--”

He clenched his fists at his sides, otherwise looking preternaturally calm. “You know, I thought they might be suspicious of me. I knew it didn’t look good, that the leaks kept coming from the engineering department, but I had nothing to hide.”

“Please, Fitz--”

“I thought they might have someone look into me at some point. I just never would have guessed they’d hire a journalist to do it,” he said, in a tone that made it clear that he knew perfectly well that she wasn’t a journalist.

“Please, just let me--”

“No, Jemma, just tell me one thing. Was anything you ever said to me the truth?”

She thought back to their first meeting, to the game night at his apartment, to their non-date and heated make-out session on his couch before… Deranged laughter threatened to bubble up out of her as she thought of responding with, “You really  _ are _ grape,” but somehow she managed to keep quiet. 

“That’s a no, then.” He nodded, lips a tight line. He turned to go.

“Fitz, wait.”

For a moment he paused, and she thought maybe he’d stay, let her explain everything-- although, what could she say? It wasn’t a misunderstanding. She’d lied to him. She’d been lying to him the whole damn time. 

Her face crumbled as he shook his head quickly and continued out of Ray’s tiny restaurant, onto the pavement and out of her life.    
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra special thanks to Aislinn ([ardentaislinn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentaislinn/pseuds/ardentaislinn)) and Stephanie ([eclecticmuse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticMuse/pseuds/EclecticMuse)) for lots and lots of help on this one. Sorry for the delay and thanks for reading!

Jemma felt hungover when she woke up the next morning, even though she hadn’t had anything to drink the night before. It was guilt, solid and heavy in her stomach.

She’d let Fitz leave Ray’s without pursuing him. By the time she’d gotten home, she’d thought of and then dismissed dozens of things to say, and called him with her fingers crossed. It went straight to voicemail after two rings. Just like it did the next three times she tried.

After the fourth attempt, she gave up. Instead, she decided that giving up, going to bed, and worrying about it later, sounded like the best possible option. So she sank into a fitful sleep.

Now, in the early morning light, she didn’t feel better at all.

She trudged through her morning routine, unfocused and untethered. By the time she walked through the door of the office, the sight of May sitting in her big, beat-up leather desk chair was an incredibly welcome surprise.

“May! You’re back!” Jemma mustered a smile that only felt slightly forced as she poured herself a cup from the pot of coffee May had already brewed.

“Got back late last night. Everything going okay here?”

Stirring her coffee, Jemma paused, her back facing May. “Everything’s fine.”

“Jemma.”

Without turning around, Jemma could tell May had one eyebrow raised. She could hear it in her voice, a sharp and knowing tone that could not be ignored. She set her coffee mug down and sighed, turning around.

“I made a mess of things, May.” She slunk over to her own desk and dropped into the chair. “He-- Fitz, the corporate espionage suspect-- he was innocent. Totally innocent. It was someone working under him at RoTech all along.”

May tapped her index finger on the desktop, swiveling to face Jemma more fully. “I’m guessing from your tone that the case isn’t exactly closed.”

“Oh, it is.” Jemma gestured vaguely, trying to smile. “We can expect the check in the mail next week.” At least they’d stay in business.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

Jemma stared May down for a few long moments before taking in a shuddering breath. “I messed everything up. I let myself get too close, and it blinded me to the facts of the case.” She frowned. “Or I let a case take precedence over someone I-- may have come to care about. Either way, it’s done.” She chuckled darkly. “So, in a way, I suppose the case is as closed as it’s ever going to be.”

Both women were silent for a moment. Jemma kept her eyes on her hands folded in her lap. Finally, May spoke.

“I never told you what I was doing up in Wisconsin all this time.”

“It’s alright, May. You mentioned it was personal.”

May pressed her lips in a tight, thin line. “I was trying to work things out with my ex-husband.”

Jemma’s head snapped up in surprise.  “I didn’t even know you’d been married.”

“It was a long time ago,” said May, nodding once. “We reconnected recently through a case, and thought there might be an opportunity to revisit old feelings.”

Jemma leaned forward in her chair. She’d never heard May speak about personal relationships before; at least, not of a romantic nature. “What happened?”

“A lot of things happened. But the gist of it is-- we’re different people than we were when we were married. We grew in different directions, and that’s in no small part because of this job.”

“He didn’t want you to be in this field?” It was a guess, but May nodded curtly.

“It drove a wedge between us long before we officially separated,” she said. “It tends to do that. But in every relationship, there are things you’re willing to give up… and for me, this job wasn’t one of them.”

Jemma flexed her hands in her lap, looking back down. “The private eye lifestyle doesn’t necessarily leave room for healthy relationships, does it?”

“No. Not for everyone.” She paused, as if waiting for Jemma to look up and meet her eye. When she finally did, May’s expression was serious, but sympathetic. “This is the life I’ve chosen, and I choose it every day. I’m content with my choices. But if you think you could potentially choose something different…”

Blinking a few times, Jemma felt her heart lurch in her chest. “If you don’t want me to work here anymore, I--”

“That’s not at all what I’m saying. In fact, it makes no difference what I want.” May turned back to her computer screen, clicking her mouse a few times as if the conversation had ended. Jemma’s brow furrowed as she tried to think of something else to say. She opened her mouth a few times before May spoke up again.

“Take the day off. Get some rest. Think about what you want, and make a choice.”

Her tone was soft and kind, but Jemma knew it was more of an order and less of a suggestion. She still felt dumbfounded, so she stood and picked up her purse in silence, pausing at the door to the office to give May a small but grateful smile. The window sign in the office door rattled as she shut it behind her.

 

\---

 

Jemma would have loved to fall back into bed for a few more hours of rest, but her mind was whirring by the time she got back to her apartment. May’s words echoed in her head. She sat down on her couch and pulled a pillow into her lap.

She’d fallen into detective work, really. She’d been good at helping May, using her forensics skills on a case here and there to pay the bills when she was new to town. One thing had led to another, and within a few months, she was a full-time private eye. Had that ever been her choice? Had she ever really made one?

She shifted until she was laying down on the couch, stuffing the little decorative throw pillow under her head. What did she want?

A social life. Friends, in addition to Daisy and May, who made her laugh and smile. A fulfilling career that perhaps didn’t involve cheating spouses or grizzled bail-jumpers.

Her gaze drifted from a spot in the middle of the wall to her coffee table, where a copy of the one of the science periodicals she and Fitz had discussed during their non-date sat open, the pages dog-eared. She felt a rush of nausea as she thought of him, and yet, for a moment, all she wanted to do was call him and ask for his opinion.

“Probably not for the best,” she muttered into her pillow. But her attention remained on the science journal, and a plan for her future began to form in her head. First, though, she needed to focus on the present-- what to do about the job she had, and how to fill the gap she’d leave behind if she chose to give it up.

 

\---

 

“Okay, you know I love you, but there had better be a good reason for me to meet you at your office at ass-crack-thirty in the morning,” mumbled Daisy, shuffling in through the door Jemma held open.

“Are donuts a good enough reason?” Jemma shut the door behind her and gestured to the box sitting open on her desk. Daisy raised her eyebrows appraisingly.

“If there’s a creme-filled in there, then yes.” Jemma pointed to the plump pastry in the corner, and Daisy grabbed it with a smile, taking a big bite as she looked back and forth between Jemma and May, who was already seated behind her desk. “So what’s up? Got a new case already?” She swallowed and wiped a crumb from the corner of her mouth with one thumb. “I hope it’s a really hard one, because hacking into standard employee records and garden variety checking accounts is a cakewalk. Gimme a real challenge.”

“That’s not exactly it,” said Jemma. “Have a seat.” Daisy furrowed her brow, but sat in Jemma’s desk chair. She looked over at May, who just shrugged in response.

“What’s up?” Daisy asked.

Jemma remained standing, clasping her hands in front of her. She felt a nervous flutter in her stomach, though she knew that what she was about to propose was a good idea. The lists of pros and cons that she’d stayed up half the night making told her as much. She straightened her spine and put a smile on her face as she addressed the other women.

“May, I’ve been thinking about what you said to me yesterday. About choice, and choosing something else. And-- and I’ve decided to leave May Investigations. Please consider this my notice.”

“Whoa,” muttered Daisy, but May only nodded. Jemma hesitated briefly, but the look on May’s face encouraged her to continue.

“I’ll be happy to finish out the customary two weeks, but as I have no open cases at the moment, I’m not sure that will be necessary.” She took a breath. “I have no intention of leaving you to run the practice alone, though I of course have no doubt as to your capabilities.” Her gaze swung over to Daisy, who frowned, looking around the room.

“What do I have to do with this?”

“You hate your job, don’t you, Daisy?”

“Well… I don’t know if _hate_ is the right word for it…” She sighed. “More like, loathe? Detest? Some other synonym for violently dislike?” Jemma let out a little laugh, and Daisy smiled. “It’s hard to like IT consulting work when you once hacked into the Pentagon’s encrypted server just for kicks.”

“Exactly,” said Jemma. “Your talents aren’t being utilized where you are. Which is why I’m recommending you as my replacement.”

Daisy raised her eyebrows. “Like, work for May? As a detective?”

“It’s really the ideal solution for all of us. This way, May has someone to help with her caseload, and you get to do something more suited to your skillset.”

“Wow. That’s--”

“Don’t answer right away,” Jemma insisted. “I want you to think about it. I think you have a knack for this kind of work, but--” She spared a glance at May, frowning. “It can be a burden. It has to be something you choose for yourself.”

Daisy scoffed. “Please. Like I even have to think about it.” She held out both hands as if weighing her options. “Helping middle managers plug in their keyboard and mouse, or getting to _solve crimes_ for a living? Count me in.”

“Well, they’re not _crimes_ , exactly, not always, and I don’t want you to think it’s all excitement and intrigue, because--”

“I know, I know.” Daisy laughed. “I’ve been helping you out on cases for awhile now, remember? I’ve seen the boring ones, too.”

Jemma bit her lip. “And you’re still in?”

“Heck yeah!”

A real smile formed on Jemma’s face for the first time in a few days. She turned to May. “What do you think, May? I know it’s a lot to consider.”

May looked from Jemma to Daisy, who was sitting forward in her chair, fingers tapping out an excited staccato on the surface of the desk. May’s mouth quirked into a small smile. “Works for me.”

Jemma felt awash with relief. “You won’t regret this, May.”

May nodded. “The same goes for you.” She held her gaze for a long moment, before turning to Daisy. As Jemma listened to them discuss the terms of Daisy’s employment, she felt as if one of a number of moving pieces had clicked into place.

Now it was time to worry about the rest of them.

 

\---

 

That night, Jemma sat on her couch with a glass of wine and her open laptop, browsing job openings. She had several tabs open with possible positions, though nothing that seemed quite right.

She’d flipped on the TV for background noise, and frowned when the next episode of Doctor Who started-- it was one that she’d “watched” with Fitz on her initial stakeout outside his apartment. She’d been doing so well at putting him out of her mind, but the opening credits brought it all back to the surface. She took another long sip of wine and slid her computer to the side.

Moments later, her fingers were reaching for her phone as if she couldn’t control them. She didn’t expect him to answer, not really. A part of her just felt like she had to keep trying. When the call predictably went to voicemail, she didn’t hang up.

“Fitz here. Leave a message,” said his outgoing recording.

“Fitz,” she began, already wishing she’d scripted out what she wanted to say. “It’s me. It’s Jemma, I mean. I know you’re upset… and you’ve every right to be. I lied to you… sort of. I mean, I did lie, but it was for a good reason. Well, a reasonable reason, at least.” She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, I’m messing this up, too, aren’t I? I just wanted to say that I’m sorr--”

 _BEEP._ It cut her off. She sighed, setting her phone facedown on the coffee table. She didn’t try calling again.

 

\---

 

Jemma’s next few days were a whirlwind of helping Daisy get up to speed at May Investigations, job-hunting in her spare time and trying not to think too hard about unpleasant things. She succeeded only some of the time.

By the end of the week, she was just tired. When her phone rang, she answered it without looking at the name on the screen.

“This is Jemma,” she said, stifling a yawn.

“Hey, Jemma,” said a familiar voice that made her sit up straighter on the couch. “It’s Bobbi.”

“Bobbi! It’s so-- so nice to hear from you!” She felt suddenly nervous-- had Bobbi called to yell at her? She’d lied to her and to Hunter, too, not just Fitz. Surely Bobbi was just as angry as he was.

“You’re probably wondering if I’m calling to yell at you.”

“What? No, of course not!” There was a pause. “I suppose I was… yes, I was wondering.”

Bobbi chuckled. “No plans to yell at all. In fact, I was hoping we could meet up for lunch sometime this weekend. Fitz filled me in on his side of things, but… I want to hear you tell it.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. These things can be complicated. I get that.”

Jemma let herself smile tentatively, tremulously, as they planned on a lunch date the following day. Perhaps she hadn’t completely lost out on the chance to be friends with Bobbi at least, after all.

 

\---

 

“Alright,” said Bobbi as soon as the waiter took their menus away. “Do you feel half as bad as you look? Because if so…”

Jemma frowned, wrapping both hands around her water glass and pulling it closer to her. “If you only called to assess the physiological evidence of my regret, then…”

Bobbi just chuckled. “I didn’t, I swear. Just an observation.” Both women were silent for a long moment, as Jemma swirled her straw in her glass. She wasn’t sure what to expect from this lunch meeting, and felt eager to get things right..

“I do feel bad,” she said finally, keeping her eyes on the table. “I never meant for… well, for any of this to happen, really.”

“So, all that stuff about being a journalist-- that was all lies?”

“It was a cover story.” Jemma shrugged. “So, yes, lies, I suppose. But you have to understand, Bobbi, it was all part of doing my job. That’s just… the nature of the business.”

Bobbi nodded slowly. “Sounds like a tough business.”

“It is. Well, it was.”

“Was?”

Jemma wrinkled her nose, feeling an odd sense of uncertainty about admitting what she’d done to Bobbi. “I quit, actually.”

“Because of Fitz?”

“No! Well, not entirely. Being in that world never felt quite right. Don’t get me wrong; I enjoyed what I did. There’s an odd sense of satisfaction that comes from solving a particularly thorny case.” She sighed. “But given the choice… I don’t know that I’d choose it for myself again.”

The waiter slid their plates in front of them, and Bobbi picked up her pickle spear and took a bite. “So what’re you going to do now?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I’ve put feelers out, applied for a few lab jobs--”

“Like, science lab?” Bobbi’s eyebrows were raised, and Jemma realized that Bobbi wouldn’t have any idea what her actual background was.

“Oh, right-- yes, my field of study was forensic science. I worked in a lab prior to joining the detective practice.”

Bobbi sat back in her chair, looking thoughtful. For a moment, Jemma thought she was about to say something, but instead she just dug into her sandwich. They ate in silence for awhile, Jemma just picking at her chicken salad. It was her favorite-- the kind with bits of apple and cranberry-- but she hadn’t had much of an appetite lately.

“Aren’t you going to ask about Fitz?”

Jemma had wondered how long that would take. She took a bite of croissant to buy herself some time, then another.

“Eventually you’re going to run out of bread, you know,” said Bobbi. Jemma looked up at her guiltily.

“You’ve still got some,” she pointed out. Bobbi pulled her plate closer to her to guard it.

“Hey, don’t mess with my sourdough. C’mon, you’ve got to be wondering how he’s been handling all this.”

The truth was, Jemma had been doing her best to focus on her job prospects, her life changes, and her own nagging guilt, hoping it would push Fitz to the very back of her mind. It worked fine most of the time, but every hour or so she’d spot something that would remind her of him and the sharp stab of guilt would return. Even so, she did want to know.

“Alright… how is he?”

“He’s about as good as you look,” Bobbi said with a smirk, and Jemma grimaced. “He’s not great, Jemma. He really liked you… in fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so excited about somebody before. He feels betrayed.”

“Way to turn the knife,” Jemma muttered.

“ _Buuuut_ ,” Bobbi began, leaning forward to coax Jemma’s gaze upward. “The way I see it, that’s a good thing.”

Jemma scoffed. “A _good_ thing?”

“Yeah. You don’t feel betrayed when someone you don’t really, really like screws you over.”

“I didn’t exactly _screw anyone over--”_

“--you feel like you dodged a bullet,” Bobbi continued. “And Fitz doesn’t feel like he dodged a bullet with you.”

Jemma furrowed her brow. “Okay…”

“What I’m saying is-- he’s a mess, and you’re a mess, and maybe you should get out all that messiness together.”

 _Wait a second. What?_ “Like--”

“Liiike I’m going to text you a time and a place later on today, and I want you to be there.” Bobbi took another bite of her pickle, then gestured at Jemma with it. “Understand?”

All Jemma could do was nod.

“Good. I’ll take care of the other half of the equation. In the meantime, you just think about what you’re going to say.”

Jemma had called Fitz nearly a dozen times, each time going to voicemail. She’d never gotten so far as to plan out exactly what she would say if he’d picked up-- perhaps a part of her knew he wouldn’t. What on earth could she possibly say to him?

The question must have been written all over her face, because Bobbi just laughed. “You’ll figure it out.”

 

\---

 

The text had come a surprisingly short time after Jemma and Bobbi had hugged goodbye in front of the restaurant.

 

 

> _[Bobbi Morse 3:11 p.m.]:_ Tomorrow at 7 pm. Bench at the northeast corner of the park. Good luck ;-)

...which gave Jemma more than 24 hours to panic.

She spent the rest of the afternoon making a list of the pros and cons of just giving up, packing it all in, and moving to Brazil. (She sighed and threw the list away after noting on the ‘Cons’ list that she burned far too easily for that climate.)

By dinnertime, she’d written and destroyed three drafts of speeches to give to Fitz the next day. She’d just fed the last one into her paper shredder when her phone vibrated, a vaguely-familiar-but-unlabeled number flashing on the screen.

“This is Jemma,” she answered after a moment’s hesitation.

“Ms. Simmons. This is Alphonso Mackenzie, over at RoTech.”

That was a surprise. “Of course, Mack, hello! Is everything alright?” She held her breath. “Did you discover something else regarding the case?”

He chuckled, voice deep over the phone. “No, no, that’s all squared away, thanks to you.”

“Ah. Well… good, then,” she finished lamely. Why else would he be calling?

“Look, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I didn’t interrupt your dinner or anything, did I? I was just heading out of the office.” She could hear errant noise in the background, like he was on his cellphone while walking through the parking lot to his car.

“No, you didn’t interrupt anything at all. What can I do for you?”

He hesitated. “I might’ve heard through the grapevine that you may be looking for a new job. Something in a different field.”

Jemma swallowed thickly, her eyes widening. Had Fitz…? How had he even known? She felt her heart begin to thud in her chest.

“Well. I, ah-- That’s correct.”

“I don’t know all the specifics of your background and experience and all that.” He paused for a moment, and Jemma heard a car door shut and an engine rev up. “But I wanted you to know that we have a pretty top-notch forensic science department here at RoTech. Thought maybe you’d want to shoot me over a resume that I could pass along.”

The thudding in Jemma’s chest got louder. “Wow-- that’s very kind of you to offer. I don’t, erm--”

“I don’t like to get too involved in other people’s personal relationships, stuff like that. Not my business. So I’ll just say-- it’s a big company. Big facility. I don’t know what went on between you and Fitz, but… you wouldn’t necessarily have to run into anyone you didn’t want to, is what I mean.”

 _Oh_. So had he not gotten his information directly from Fitz? She frowned.

“It’s really a nice offer. And I’ll consider it. It’s just-- who… if you don’t mind my asking, I just--”

“Bobbi Morse is a good friend, isn’t she? Always been a good friend to me, a good friend to Fitz, and I guess now a good friend to you.”

Jemma had to laugh. If befriending Bobbi was the only positive thing that came out of the whole ordeal, then perhaps it wasn’t all that bad.

“She had a lot of nice things to say about you. On top of you solving the case and absolving my buddy, it all makes it sound like you’d be a great fit over here. If you’re interested, that is.”

If she was interested… a state-of-the-art lab, a company that seemed to be committed to science rather than other, more nefarious pursuits, and a position working in the field she’d once loved dearly? She’d be a fool to turn it down. Except…

“I’m definitely intrigued, I can say that. Can I think about it?”

“Of course. Email me your resume if you decide you’re in. I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll put in a good word.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

“Least I can do. Talk to you soon, Jemma.”

Jemma said goodbye and hung up the phone, her gaze unfocused. A few hours ago, she’d had little hope of speaking to Fitz again and minimal job prospects. Now, she had a meeting that he’d presumably show up to on her calendar and a lead on a job she thought she might really, really want.

She bit her lip. Could she in good conscience pursue, let alone accept, a job working at Fitz’s company? What if he never forgave her? What if they had to see each other day after day, in the RoTech cafeteria or walking down the corridors, and he couldn’t even look her in the eye? Would he just think she’d used him to get a leg up in her career, or that she wasn’t at all upset about what had happened between them?

It was enough to make her stomach turn. No, she decided. If Fitz was committed to hating her forever, then she couldn’t take a job at RoTech. There were plenty of other companies in town.

Still, tailoring her resume to suit a job in a forensics lab would be an excellent way to take her mind off her meeting with Fitz. She pulled her laptop into her lap and settled in on the sofa for an evening of resume-polishing and trying not to think about what she might say to Fitz, and how he might take it.

 

\---

 

By 6 p.m. the next day, though, Jemma had to admit that she couldn’t tweak her resume any longer. It was perfect.

Her plan for what to say to Fitz, however, was not.

She fussed over her hair and outfit, even though she knew it didn’t really matter how nice she did or didn’t look. She downed three glasses of water, her mouth dry all the while, and had to dart back into the apartment to pee before she’d made it halfway down the hall. Even with so many hold-ups, though, she found herself at the correct park bench five minutes early.

What if he didn’t come? What if Bobbi hadn’t been able to convince him? Jemma briefly wondered if perhaps Bobbi had set her up, not even telling Fitz about the meeting, as some sort of revenge on his behalf, but she dismissed the thought as soon as it appeared. Bobbi wouldn’t go to the trouble to do that and help Jemma get a new job at the same time.

It was two minutes past seven when she spotted him, walking down the sidewalk with his hands stuffed in his pockets. She felt a confusing mix of guilt and attraction when she noticed he seemed to have gone a few days without shaving, and smiled weakly when he saw her. His answering smile was more like a grimace.

“Hello,” he said awkwardly as he came to a stop in front of her. She stood up from the bench, and before she could stop herself, stuck out her hand to shake his. He just stared down at it, though, and she finally pulled it back.

“Good to see you, Fitz,” she said, and she meant it.

He sat down on the far side of the bench, and she sat back down, too. “Not sure if I can say the same,” he muttered, then sighed. “Sorry.”

Jemma crossed her legs, folding her hands in her lap and staring out onto the expanse of greenery in front of them. “So… Bobbi just texted me to be here at 7. She didn’t really give me any indication of… um, what I mean is, I wasn’t sure--”

“Whether we were coming here to fight or to make up?”

“Well… I’m not sure I’d put it _that_ way, but. Yes.”

He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not exactly sure, either. Bobbi sent me the same message she sent you, I guess. That is, after she did a lot of cajoling to convince me to actually come.”

Jemma rubbed one thumb idly over the back of her hand. “Ah. Bobbi’s a good friend. She really cares about you.”

Fitz chuckled darkly. “Yeah. She is. And she does.”

She didn’t know what to say after that, and Fitz didn’t seem to, either. Jemma wished she’d salvaged any of her drafts of speeches-- the worst thing she’d written had to be better than uncomfortable silence.

“I’m glad it wasn’t you. That you weren’t the mole, that is,” she said finally, staring at the sidewalk in front of her. Fitz laughed humorlessly again.

“Yeah? So am I. Not that I ever knew I was being suspected of anything. Glad to know I’m not a criminal, though. Helps me sleep at night.”

Jemma winced. “I didn’t want to believe you’d ever do something like that. I just-- I didn’t know you.”

“Great way to get to know a guy,” he said. He uncrossed his arms and let his hands fall to the bench on either side of him, gripping the edge of the wood. “Accuse him of being a traitor, of caring about money above all else--”

“Now, hang on, I didn’t _accuse_ you of anything. It was your company that did that.”

“Don’t I know it. Glad to know they’ve placed their trust in me just about as much as you did.”

“That’s not fair,” she said.

“No?” he asked, shifting in his seat to finally look at her. “Is it more or less fair than you acting like you-- like you cared about me, when you were really just reporting back on my every move to your bosses and mine?”

She turned her knees toward him, her breath coming faster and her heart pounding in her chest again. “I was certainly not reporting on your _every move--_ ”

“Oh, no? Just on what I said and did when we were on a date? Or when we were-- when we were--” He huffed, getting flustered. “If I’d wanted RoTech to have eyes in my bedroom, I’d have developed the surveillance devices myself. I’m good at that, or don’t you remember? Two big engineering firms in a bidding war over me?”

“Fitz, I was doing my job." She sighed. "I had to investigate every lead, and-- and-- you didn't exactly do yourself any favors, making appointments at Wick Labs and dropping off suspicious folders!"

He looked up at her with tired eyes. "They'd mailed me a signed contract. Signed by _me_. Forged, of course. I set a meeting so I could go over there and tell them where they could shove it." He shrugged. "Didn't exactly think someone would be watching me do it, or I'd have tried to look less 'suspicious.'"

Jemma bit her lip, her brow furrowed, and watched him. "You know how catastrophic an intelligence leak can be for a company like yours," she said softly after a beat.

He scoffed. “Course I do.”

“So you know why I had to pursue it. I was a private investigator hired to work a case. It was a job.”

He threw up his hands in frustration, and she could read the hurt in his blue eyes. “Jemma, I don’t care about that. Okay, fine, you-- you were bloody well doing your job. That’s fine. All I care about is-- was it ever real between you and me? Any of it?”

“All of it,” she said immediately. He cocked his head to the side, giving her a doubtful look, and she bit her lip. “All of it that mattered. I liked you, and your friends, and your life. So much. The way I felt was real. Is real.”

He nodded, his eyes trained on the ground. He shuffled the toe of one trainer back and forth over the pavement a few times, and crossed his arms over his chest again. Then he looked back up at her. “For me as well.”

Jemma held her breath as she tried to decipher his expression. When he didn’t say anything, she blurted out, “I quit my job.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You did?”

She nodded quickly. “It wasn’t for me. That entire lifestyle. This… experience… with you, that made me realize it, but it had never felt exactly right. So I quit.”

“Oh,” he said, still sounding a bit surprised. “What’re you going to do now?”

“I have a few leads, but I’m not completely sure. I do think that I’ve realized that my loyalties lie with science, though.”

One corner of his mouth quirked up, and it made her heart flutter in her chest, giving her courage to continue.

“Besides, I’m clearly not cut out for being an investigator.” She frowned. “I should never have let myself get so close to you. It could have cost me the case. So I hurt you, and I broke the most basic rule of detective work, all in one go.” She shook her head sadly. “I could have ruined everything all in one fell swoop, but…” She looked back up at him, sucking in a shuddering breath. “I don’t regret it.”

He furrowed his brow. “You don’t,” he said flatly, less of a question than a statement.

“I can’t regret taking on the case to begin with, because I never would have met you otherwise.” She clenched both hands into fists in her lap, feeling her nerves begin to get the better of her. “And I can’t regret getting close to you, even if it was poor detective work, even if I could have lost us the case and potentially even put May Investigations out of business for all I know… I ruined things on a number of levels, but I can’t regret it because I’m still glad I met you.”

It was a version of the second draft of her speech, somehow stuck in her brain. She fell silent, gaze downcast, hands still clenched in tight fists in her lap. Fitz didn’t say anything, and she was beginning to wonder if he ever would. She didn’t want to look up to find out.

In one swift movement, he reached a hand over and covered both of her fists with it. She let out a tiny gasp and looked up to meet his eyes, but he was watching their hands, a small crease between his brows. He pressed gently on her fists until she unclenched them, flattening her palms over her thighs. With one last ghost of a touch, he pulled his hand back, swallowing hard. This time, though, he looked up at her.

“I’m glad I met you, too.”

She stared at him for a long moment before a smile bloomed on her face. He smiled, too-- smaller and less intense, but it was still there, and it lit a candle in Jemma’s heart.

He turned in his spot on the bench until he was facing forward again, and if Jemma wasn’t mistaken, he scooted a little bit closer to her in the process. She watched his face in profile, then turned her own stance to match his.

Together, they sat on a bench in the park, side by side in silence as the sun went down.

 

\---

 

_Three weeks later_

“Thank you for your time, Dr. Richardson,” Jemma said, reaching out to shake the hand of the petite older woman across the desk from her. “I appreciate the opportunity.”

Dr. Richardson smiled warmly. “Thank you for coming in-- Mack certainly spoke highly of you, and it seems like he was right to do so. I think I can safely say you’ll be hearing from us within the week.”

With one last nod, Jemma exited the small office that was tucked in the corner of the larger forensics lab. She trailed her fingertips along a lab bench as she made her way through the room itself, a smile playing at her lips. She wondered what it might be like to come to work in a lab every day again; to do science full-time.

To work in the same building as--

“Fitz!” She started at the sight of him, as he poked his head through the door to the lab. “Hello!”

“Hi,” he said, stepping forward and leaning against the doorjamb. He looked like he wasn’t sure if he should offer to shake her hand or hug her or something else entirely, and so he just crossed his arms over his chest instead.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d see you today,” she ventured. After their evening in the park, they’d taken tentative steps forward-- an email about an article he thought she’d like to read here, a text message about a new food truck she’d spotted on her block there. She’d texted him about the job offer before she’d agreed to the interview, prepared to wait anxiously for his response, but it turned out she didn’t have to. He’d texted back immediately that he thought she should go for it.

Still, in spite of his insistence, she had tried not to dwell on the possibility of running into him on the day of her interview.

“I just wanted to check in. See if it went alright.” He chuckled, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, then muttered, “What am I saying; ‘course it went alright.” He furrowed his brow. “Erm. Didn’t it?”

Jemma grinned, shifting a bit closer to where he stood in the door and leaning in so she could speak quietly. “It went _quite_ well, if you ask me.”

His smile was immediate and made Jemma feel warm all over. “Good, good. I’m glad. I think you’re gonna like it here.” He let out a laugh. “Now that we don’t have a mole anymore, that is.”

“That’s a definite plus.” She tapped the toe of his shoe gently with the tip of one of her leopard flats and gave him a crooked smile. “Though it seems that there are quite a lot of benefits to working here,” she said, unsure if she intended it to sound as flirtatious as it had come out. After seeing his eyes slightly widen and his lips part just a bit, she decided she definitely did.

“So, ah,” he began. “It’s lunchtime.”

“Goodness, is it?” Jemma glanced down at her watch. “My meeting with Dr. Richardson lasted longer than I’d thought!”

“I’d love to hear about it. If you’re not already on a higher clearance level than me, that is,” he said, and she could hear a welcome note of teasing in his voice. “Maybe we could grab lunch? If you’ve got time.”

“You know, I hear this place has an excellent cafeteria,” she replied, and he chuckled, uncrossing his arms and pushing off from the doorjamb. “Lead the way?”

As they walked down the hall, Jemma filled Fitz in on the highlights of her interview-- she and Dr. Richardson had hit it off, bonding over new developments in toxicology in particular. He asked questions and laughed in all the right places, and she had a vision of what life could someday be like: the two of them working in adjacent labs, sharing tea breaks, walking to their cars together. Maybe more than that. She found that even more than before, she really, really hoped she’d get the job.

“The taco bar is always a good choice,” Fitz said, jarring her from her thoughts as they entered the familiar cafeteria.

“Well, who can go wrong with tacos?”

“No one.” He grinned at her, passing her a red plastic tray from the end of the line.

They spent nearly an hour across from each other at a cafeteria table, bouncing from topic to topic, long after their tacos had been eaten. Eventually, though, he had to get back to work, and she figured loitering around a potential place of employment hours after a job interview might look a bit odd, anyway.

“Let me get you a cup of tea for the road,” he said as they pushed in their chairs and carried the remnants of their lunch to the trash bins. “Earl Grey today?”

Jemma nodded, and as he assembled the perfect to-go cuppa, she let out a sigh that felt equal parts wistful and hopeful. She wanted to believe that they could move forward. She had to believe they could.

“Would you walk me to my car?” she asked suddenly, taking the paper cup he offered her. He raised his eyebrows, but nodded, and together they walked in companionable silence out to the visitors’ parking lot.

“This is me,” she said when they’d reached her car.

“So it is.”

Jemma bit her lip, leaning back against the driver’s side door to face him. He gestured back toward the building with one thumb.

“I should…”

“Before you go--” she interrupted him. He closed his mouth and let his hands fall to his sides, giving her his rapt attention. She took a deep breath and went on. “Before you go back in… before we’re professional colleagues for real, and this becomes a potential HR violation…” One corner of his mouth tilted in up in the tiniest of smirks, and that gave her the confidence to continue. “I know things are strange between us, Fitz, but-- I’d like to take you to dinner. If you’d like to go. Not to apologize, or-- or-- or to make anything up to you. Just as a date.”

He didn’t say anything at first, and she felt a trickle of nerves trail up her spine.

“Perhaps this is too fast, or perhaps I should’ve--” she began to backpedal, but he cut her off.

“Yes,” he said. “I’d like that.” He laughed, looking down at the pavement before meeting her eyes again. “I was, uh, actually trying to get up the nerve to ask you the same thing. But I wasn’t sure if it was inappropriate, or too soon, or just a bad idea entirely.”

A smile bloomed on her face, and he grinned, too, looking relieved. “Do you think it’s a bad idea?” she asked, hoping she knew the answer.

He was shaking his head before she’d gotten the words all the way out. “No.”

“Nor do I.”

They just stood there for a few long moments, two people grinning at each other in a parking lot, before his phone buzzed in his pocket and he startled.

“Shite,” he muttered, then looked at her with apologetic eyes. “Apparently they expect me to actually get some work done today.”

“Imagine that,” she teased. “I’ll text you later?”

“Good.” He took a small, shuffling step away from her, then paused as if vacillating.

Finally, she could see the tension in his shoulders ease as he came to a decision.

He leaned forward in one fluid motion and pressed his lips to hers, soft but certain, his fingertips just brushing her cheek. She barely had time to close her eyes and kiss him back before he’d pulled away. His heated gaze didn’t stray from hers as he stepped back.

She let out a shaky breath, already missing the feeling of his mouth on hers. The look in his eyes as he walked backward toward the lab building, though, promised many more kisses to come.

Jemma knew then that she’d made the right choice.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to chat on Tumblr? I'm unbreakablejemmasimmons over there!


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